Scrolls and Spears
by Jade Dragoon
Summary: Eleven thousand years ago, a skinny, bookish young scholar was thrust into the epicenter of a legendary conflict that would forever change the fate of the Human race. This is the story of that young scholar. This is the story of Syuveil.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's note: All those with weak stomachs, read this before venturing further. This is not a fairy tale. The heroes do not tap the bad guys with their swords and make them magically disappear. This is a story about WAR. It contains graphic descriptions of violence and death. Do not read it if this offends you.

Syuveil gripped his spear tightly as he studied his opponent, analyzing the other man's movements, searching for some small flaw in the warrior's defense that would secure his victory. His adversary was undoubtedly doing the same; Syuveil could feel the man's cold eyes watching him as they circled each other, their gaze seeming to pierce through armor and flesh and stare down into the depths of his soul. It unnerved Syuveil, but he put it out of his mind. The slightest distraction, the smallest slip in concentration meant death in the heat of battle. He continued to circle his foe, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike, for the other warrior to make some minute misstep. Then Syuveil would have him.

Suddenly, the man leapt forward, sending a cut at Syuveil's head with his sword. Syuveil ducked and retaliated with a jab of his spear. His enemy deflected it and attacked again, sending two slashes at Syuveil in quick succession. He parried them both with ease and aimed a thrust at the man's unprotected face. The man jerked back and Syuveil struck again, whipping the butt end of the spear around at his temple. This time, his opponent was too slow, and Syuveil felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the _crack_ the wood made against the man's skull. His adversary staggered back, and Syuveil pressed the attack, thrusting at him with lightning-fast speed, keeping his dazed foe on his heels. Somehow, the man managed to get his sword in the way of all the blindingly quick strikes, but each parry was slower and clumsier than the last. The blow to the head had dimmed his senses, Syuveil could tell. This battle would soon be over.

Syuveil jabbed again, but this time his strike was slower than the previous ones. It was a delay of no more than half a second, but it was enough for his enemy to mount a counterattack. This was what Syuveil had been hoping for. As expected, his opponent's cut was a frantic strike intended to stave off the relentless tide of blows, and it left him off balance. Syuveil spun aside and kicked his adversary's leg out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, his weapon flying from his hand. Syuveil gripped his spear in his hands, readying himself for the final strike…

"_Enough_!" The icy voice cut through the air of the training hall like a whip, making Syuveil hold off his attack and stand dutifully at attention. Weapons Master Kane strode over to them, his lip curling with disgust as he beheld the sight of the man on the floor. "Get up, Rolf," the Wingly said coldly, shoving the toe of his boot into the defeated warrior's ribs. Rolf groaned and got shakily to his feet. "I must offer my congratulations, Rolf," Kane said with a sneer. "As long as I've been here, I don't believe anyone has ever been beaten in such short a time. You may have set a record." Rolf cringed at the contempt the weapons master's voice. Syuveil just stood and watched, glad it wasn't him.

"I have been training slaves to fight in the Imperial Arena for twenty years, and I can honestly say that that was the worst display of swordsmanship I've seen in all that time," Kane spat. "If it were up to me, I'd send you to fight in the beast pits instead of the coliseum, because you are fit for nothing more than animal food." His voice dripped acid. "Get out of my sight, fool." As Rolf scurried off, Kane turned to the twenty or so other men who were training in the hall. "That goes for the rest of you, too. You're dismissed, all of you. I can only stand so much ineptitude at once." He turned on his heel and stalked off, without even a single word of praise for Syuveil's triumph. Syuveil scowled after him, but it was no more than he'd expected. Kane was a Wingly, after all, and no Human slave, no matter how skilled, would ever get a kind word from him. He'd been their weapons master for the past four months, and all they'd ever gotten from him was icy contempt. Training slaves to fight in the Imperial Arena was his job, but demeaning them and reducing them to something less than men them was his pleasure. As men who, in Kane's eyes, were not yet worthy of battling in the Arena, Syuveil and the others were worth less than dirt to him. He delighted in making their lives a torment, and Syuveil hated him for it.

The young warrior left the training hall and made the long walk back to his cell. When he arrived, he shut the door behind him and took off his armor, throwing it in a corner and sinking down onto his stone bed in a tired haze when he was done. For a while he just stared at the ceiling, exhaustion making his limbs heavy and a feeling of melancholy in his stomach, thinking about how much he couldn't stand this hellhole. Every day it was the same thing. He was woken up at five in the morning, thrown into a rigorous training session that lasted until dusk, given a bowl of cold slop to eat, and then locked back in his cell. He hated it here, hated the harsh, brutal training that always left him feeling half dead, hated the countless beatings that were given for the slightest offense or mistake, hated forcing down the same foul-tasting gruel every single day, hated sleeping on cold stone with nothing but a loincloth to keep him warm, hated every single damn thing about this place. It had taken away his pride, his dignity, everything that made him who he was. The Winglies had stripped it all away from him, leaving him an empty shell. The only thing that had kept him sane during the past four months were the memories of happier times. The memories were all he had, the only thing they couldn't take away from him.

Syuveil's life hadn't always been this bad. Unlike most Humans, he hadn't been a slave all his life. He'd been born in a small village in northern Gloriano. It was so isolated and outlying that most didn't know it existed, and Syuveil had spent many happy years there with his family and his books. His books…Soa's blood, how he missed those books now. He'd spend hours upon hours in his room reading anything he could get his hands on. Sometimes he'd forget to sleep, and just read until he passed out on the table. Remembering that brought a nostalgic smile to Syuveil's face. That was the best part of his life. He'd been happy there. Then his life changed forever.

One day, the Winglies discovered Syuveil's village. No warning was given, no chance to surrender or flee, nothing. One moment everything was quiet and peaceful; the sky was blue, the atmosphere was calm and serene, everything seemed fine. The next instant, platinum-haired warriors were coming down from the sky, destroying Syuveil's life with steel and magic. They annihilated the entire village, and what Humans were left alive after the slaughter, they sold into slavery.

The events of that day, the images of his friends dying and his village burning were burned into Syuveil's mind like the slave's brand on his arm. He'd just acquired a new book that day, he remembered. _A History of the Human Race_, it was called. Strange that, even with all the death and destruction that happened that day, he should remember that. He'd just been settling down to read it when he heard a woman scream. Rushing out, he saw dead bodies covering the ground and houses burning. Winglies were flying through the air, incinerating the villagers as they tried to run, or swooping down to run them through. Men, women, children, it hadn't mattered to them; they'd seemed to take a sadistic delight in cutting down as many innocents as possible.

As Syuveil looked on in horror, he saw a woman running for her life from a pack of Wingly soldiers, her three children close behind. The soldiers flew down and surrounded the four Humans, and then proceeded to murder the woman's children in front of her eyes. One young boy was cloven in two, another decapitated, and the third thrown to the ground and stabbed to death. When they were finished, they threw a fireball at the woman and flew off, leaving her to burn to death. Her agony-filled shrieks mingled with the screams of countless other victims of the massacre.

Suddenly, Syuveil heard someone call his name. He turned around and saw his younger sister running towards him, a Wingly hot on her heels. He ran towards her to help, but the black-hearted creature was too quick for him. He grabbed her, flew up about a hundred feet, and threw her back down to the ground. Her skull split like an overripe melon as she hit the earth, her brains spilling out of the shattered remnants of her head like jelly. That image had haunted Syuveil's dreams ever since. He doubted whether that memory would ever fade. That was the last thing he remembered seeing. Something had struck him in the head, a spell, a club, a brick, Syuveil didn't know. Blackness overtook him, and he fell to the ground.

By the time he'd regained consciousness, the massacre was over. The village was a smoking ruin, with corpses covering nearly every inch of the ground. Only eight had survived, including Syuveil. The Winglies sent them to Kadessa in chains, where they were placed on the auction block and sold to the highest bidder. Syuveil was one of the lucky ones. His slight frame made him ill-suited for hard labor, but his ability to read and write, along with his considerable intelligence, made him perfect as a scribe, and he was quickly purchased by a scholar from Agilis. The scholar had been making an extensive study of magic, and most of Syuveil's duties involved aiding him in that study. He spent most of his time in the scholar's library, poring over centuries-old texts and scrolls filled with the secrets of the arcane.

Syuveil had been content, if not happy, with his new life. The scholar treated him well enough, and his duties as a slave gave him plenty of opportunities to indulge his passion for reading and learning. He found the art of magic to be a fascinating subject, and studied the books in the scholar's library even in his free hours. He must have read that whole library twice over. Sadly, like his life in the village, his time with the scholar came to a sudden and abrupt end.

The scholar had died of sickness, and all his property, including Syuveil, passed to his son. Unfortunately, the son was disinclined to proceed with his father's study of magic, and therefore had no further need of Syuveil. Late one night, Syuveil overheard his new master discussing plans to sell him to the crystal mines in Denningrad, a place notorious for its high body count.

Knowing that if he was sent to the mines he would never come out, Syuveil had made plans to escape Agilis. He'd gotten as far as the teleporter before he was caught and sent back to his master. Syuveil could still remember the look of disgust on the Wingly's face as the guards had brought him in. "You fool," he'd said with the utmost contempt. "You would've had a comfortable job in Denningrad. I'd meant for you to have the task of keeping records of the mines' crystal production, but you've shot that to hell." He'd looked down on Syuveil, eyes glittering with malice. "I believe I'll sell you to the Arena now. They're always in need of fodder for the dragons." Motioning to the guards, he'd ordered Syuveil to be taken away and thrown into the dungeons. That was the last Syuveil ever saw of Agilis and all its books. The next day, the guards transported him to Kadessa, and the brutality of the Imperial Arena.

When he'd first arrived, he'd been sure he was going to die. He was a scholar, not a warrior; he'd never so much as held a weapon before. His hands were made for turning the pages of books, not gripping the hilt of a sword. He was in terrible shape, and after the first day of training, Syuveil hadn't expected to last the week. Yet somehow he'd survived, and after the first few days discovered a new, previously untapped skill. He may not have been very strong, but his speed and agility, combined with cat-like reflexes, made him a natural at spear fighting. He'd quickly excelled in the training ring, and soon no one could match his skill with a lance.

But despite the unveiling of his newfound abilities, Syuveil was still filled with despair. The rest of his miserable life would be spent in the Arena. He had no future, no happy ending to look forward to. Even if he survived training, which was no sure thing, he would still be nothing more than a slave, a worthless gladiator with the power only to entertain a jeering crowd, to sate the bloodlust of a cruel oppressive race. Where was the future in that?

The harsh voice of one of the guards jerked Syuveil out of his morbid thoughts. "Lights out, scum! Everyone asleep in ten minutes! No talking!" Syuveil gave a depressed sigh and shut his eyes, the peaceful shroud of sleep covering him, banishing his melancholy and giving him a few hours respite from the rigors of his harsh new life.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's note: Sorry for the delayed update on this chapter. I'll try to get the next one posted sooner. Also, many thanks to Amanda Swiftgold and Jezzi for the kind reviews.

As the first rays of the sun's light illuminated the bloodstained bricks of the Imperial Arena, Syuveil was jerked out of a deep sleep by the loud clangor of a guard's spear banging against the bars of his cell. As he struggled to gain a grip on his mental faculties, a harsh voice cut through the groggy and tired haze fogging his brain.

"Up! Get up, you pathetic Human slime! Kane wants you all in the training ring now! Get up, damn you!" Syuveil groaned and staggered out of his bed, such as it was, wiping the sleep from his eyes. The guard smacked his spear against the bars one last time and went off to torment the other slaves. He walked over to his armor and started to strap it on. The guard walked back over to him and bashed the bars yet again. "Put that down!" he snapped. "You won't be needing it. Get over to the training area now." Puzzled, but knowing that asking questions would accomplish nothing more than getting a harsh beating, Syuveil tossed his armor down and exited his cell, joining the line of slaves headed towards the training area.

Upon their arrival, they were greeted, as usual, by the contemptuous scowl of Weapons Master Kane. However, instead of setting them up for drills, Kane walked along the line, cold eyes sweeping over them, his stare making them all shiver. "You are some of the worst, most inept slaves I have ever trained," he began, voice dripping acid as he spoke. "Not one in ten of you could survive for more than five minutes in the ring. Yet somehow, you _have_ survived this training, and because you have survived, you are now fit to die with some small measure of honor in the Imperial Arena." His eyes narrowed at the audible sigh of relief from one of the slaves. Syuveil couldn't see who. Kane's lip curled into his familiar sneer. "Your training may be over, but you are complete and utter fools if you believe that you will have the slightest respite now that you are free of me. You are nothing but worthless filth, and when your first battles arrive you will all be cut down like flies in a winter wind." He spat on the ground. "Go back to your cells and collect your belongings. We'll need them for the next insects that I'll have to train."

Syuveil followed the other slaves out of the training area, making the familiar journey back to his cell for what would be the last time. As they walked out of Kane's earshot, the rest of the slaves began to utter exclamations of relief, elated at the fact that they had finally escaped the tyrannical Wingly's brutal training. Syuveil didn't join in with them. The other fools might feel that the worst was over, but no feeling of ecstasy flooded him on the day of his "graduation". For while he was, of course, glad to be free from Weapons Master Kane, he knew that what was to come next was far, far worse.

The harshest labor camp was a summer paradise compared to fighting in the Imperial Arena. The mere mention of the place was enough to send shivers of fear down the spine of even the toughest Human slave. As long has Syuveil had been alive, he had heard chilling tales of the place, stories of the horrific bloodshed and death that was the daily life of the poor souls whose doom it was to fight and suffer in the ring for no better reason than to give the crowd it's money's worth. The lucky ones died, while the unlucky lived on in pain and torment, the sole purpose in their short, brutal lives being only to kill. That was the fate that awaited Syuveil for the rest of his existence. Soa have mercy, what had he done to deserve this?

They'd arrived at the cells. Syuveil entered his cell and began collecting his possessions, such as they were. All he had was his armor, his spear, and whatever rags he was able to scrounge up that could pass as clothes. Gathering all this up, he walked with the rest of the new gladiators out of the training building and over to the neighboring main arena. A guard led them to the slaves' cell block, and gave them each a cell. Syuveil was assigned Cell 27c, at the far end of the block. He headed over to it amidst the jeers and curses of the slaves already there. He walked inside, set his armor and spear down, and was just about to lie down on his straw cot and go to sleep when a sharp voice pierced through the slaves' yelling.

"Who the hell are you?"

The voice, which seemed to have come from the adjacent cell, was harsh and rough, the sound of it grating against Syuveil's ears like a steel knife scraping against rock. He spun around, searching for the speaker, and saw a very intimidating man standing in the opposite cell and staring at him with a contemptuous gleam in his dark eyes, not unlike the all-too familiar look that Syuveil often got from Kane. The man's beard and hair were reddish-brown, and muscle rippled across his bare chest and arms. His cruel, brutal face twisted up into a scowl as he looked at Syuveil from between the bars that separated their cells.

"Well?" he snapped. "I asked you a question, didn't I?" Syuveil, rendered momentarily speechless by the sight of the fierce-looking man, found his voice again.

"My name is Syuveil. I'm one of the new slaves that they sent up to fight in the arena."

The man's scowl deepened. "I can see that, fool," he growled. "I asked your name, not your life story."

Syuveil's eyes narrowed. He despised being spoken to like this; he'd had far too many bad experiences with bullies in his youth. "I gave you my name," he told the man, cold politeness in every word. "Now I require yours."

"Kiss my ass," the man snarled.

Syuveil laid a hand on his spear. "Those who speak to me in that manner come to regret it," he said, trying his best to make his voice sound tough and mean, instead of high and squeaky with the fear that was beginning to rise up inside him. The man erupted with laughter.

"Yeah, right!" he said, shaking with mirth. "_You're_ gonna make _me_ regret it? That's the funniest thing I've heard in years!" The laughter suddenly stopped, replaced by a murderous look. "Now get outta here before I take that spear you've got and bugger you with it."

Syuveil hefted the spear and pointed it at the man. "You can try," he said, at the same time his brain was yelling, _You idiot! Run! Run before he kills you!_ Syuveil pushed this voice out of his mind and tightened his grip on the spear.

The man suddenly rushed toward him, crashing against the cell bars and rattling them with his fists, teeth bared, roaring like an animal, eyes shining with an insane light. It took every bit of willpower Syuveil possessed to stand his ground, but he did, facing the madman without so much as flinching. Eventually, the man let go of the bars and looked at Syuveil, apparently impressed. "Well, you've got balls, kid, I'll give you that." The insane gleam had left his eyes, replaced by a look of grudging respect. "So, you're one of the new gladiators, huh? I hope for your sake that you're stronger than you look. Otherwise you won't last long."

"Don't worry," Syuveil said, "I can handle myself."

The man sneered. "That's what they all think. Every new gladiator says that they're hot shit, and that they're gonna conquer the arena, and Soa take pity on whatever they're matched against, 'cause they can cut through anything the Winglies throw at them." His sneer widened into a feral grin. "Then they get to their first match, and their opponent cuts through them instead. You don't seem to be any different." Syuveil remained silent. "Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?" the man said. "Your first match oughta be sometime today."

"Who am I fighting?"

"How the hell should I know? They post the matches on a big piece of parchment in the antechamber outside the main ring. Go there and find out if you're that anxious."

"Fine," Syuveil said. "How do I get there?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Follow me." He led Syuveil to the antechamber where the parchment was kept, and Syuveil walked over to it. Searching for his name, he found it next to someone named Magnar. "Who's Magnar?" he asked the man. The man laughed, a deep, cold rumble that made Syuveil shudder. "Well?" he prompted, "who is he?"

"Magnar's a Giganto, kid," the man said. "One of the best gladiators in the Arena, too. Likes killing almost as much as me."

"A…a Giganto?" Syuveil stammered, the blood draining from his face.

The man smirked at the fear in his voice. "Yeah, a Giganto. Looks like you'll be fighting him at around noon." He pointed over to a door on their left. "Through there's a sparring ring. You can go in there and practice with that spear of yours if you want. Don't think it'll do you a whole lotta good, though. You'll die in the fight with Magnar no matter what you do."

"What makes you say that?"

The man smiled grimly "Do you know what the life expectancy is for a brand-new Human gladiator paired up against a Giganto for his first match?" the man asked.

"No."

"Thirty seconds," the man said. "You're dead meat, kid." With those words, the man turned and walked away.

Syuveil headed back to his cell on shaky legs. _A Giganto. I have to fight a Giganto._ He'd never seen a Giganto before, but he'd heard tales of the immense creatures, monsters twice as tall as a man and three times as broad, with enough strength to punch through solid rock, effortlessly wielding enormous weapons, giant axes and clubs that most Humans couldn't even lift. They were the ultimate fighting machine, and Syuveil had to fight one. He walked into his cell and grabbed his spear, thinking he would take the man up on his suggestion of spending some time in the sparring ring. He'd need all the help he could get if he was to somehow survive.

Syuveil whittled away the time until his match with Magnar by practicing with his spear nonstop. The exercise, though tiring, took his mind off of what was about to happen, forcing his brain to concentrate on his fighting when it would have otherwise been occupied by the numbing dread that coursed through his body whenever he thought about the match at noon.

He had just set down his spear and walked over to the water bucket to get a drink when the door to the sparring ring opened and someone called his name. He turned to the speaker. "What?" he asked.

"You Syuveil?" the messenger asked. "You're up next. Get your armor and head over to the antechamber." Syuveil swallowed hard and went back to his cell to get his armor. As he arrived, he noticed the russet-haired man from earlier standing nearby.

"You're up next, eh?" the man said. Syuveil nodded, his throat too tight with fear to respond with words. The man laughed harshly. "Calm down, kid. You look like you're about to piss yourself." Suveil didn't reply to that, just went about strapping on his armor with trembling fingers. Completing that task, he grabbed his spear and started to walk towards the antechamber. "Hey, kid," the man said. Syuveil turned around. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Syuveil replied. "Hey, I don't think I ever got your name."

"It's Kanzas," the man said. "Now, are you gonna stand around talking to me all day or are you gonna fight? Go on, get outta here." Syuveil nodded in acknowledgement, turned, and left, heading towards the antechamber, and his almost certain death.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's Note: Again, sorry for the wait. The Document Manager wouldn't let me upload this chapter. I either kept getting an error, or it wouldn't do anything at all. Needless to say, I was rather pissed off. But I've got it up now, so it's all good…

Syuveil's footsteps echoed loudly as he walked down the grim, dark corridor that led to the antechamber, the sound of leather on stone reverberating through the air like the _tick tock_ of some terrible clock, counting down the seconds until Syuveil's doom. Each footfall was a movement of the hand, bringing him closer to the antechamber door, bringing him closer to his death.

The thought of the upcoming fight filled every crack and crevasse of Syuveil's brain, shoving all else aside and turning his blood to ice water. Sweat soaked the palms of his hands, and he was gripping his spear so hard his knuckles were white. His mouth had gone dry, making it difficult to swallow the bile that was building up in the back of his throat. His whole body shook with tremors, his insides writhing like a den of snakes, so that he had to make a conscious effort not to vomit. What he was feeling was beyond nervousness, beyond fear. This was sheer, utter, all-encompassing terror, the kind of stark, mindless horror that robs a man of his ability to reason or think and replaces it with the overwhelming desire to run, to tear through the walls, to do whatever is necessary to escape. This terror coursed through Syuveil's body like some deadly poison, making him feel as though he might pass out from it.

Yet he kept walking, knowing that he had no other choice but to fight. If he didn't show up, he would lose the match with Magnar by default, and that meant his death. Any arena fighter who missed a battle or refused to fight was executed. Immediately. No questions asked. If Syuveil fought the Giganto there was a chance, albeit an overwhelmingly small one, that he might survive. If he skipped the match, he was dead for a certainty.

After what seemed like an eternity, Syuveil arrived at the antechamber to the main arena. It was empty except for a few fighters either headed for the training room or checking the parchment that listed the day's matches. Syuveil gripped his spear tighter and waited, trying his best not to piss himself. He could hear the clash of steel on steel coming from the main arena and, in the background, the yells and jeers of the Wingly crowd. _As long as I can hear them fighting,_ Syuveil thought, _I'm safe._

However, the sound of swords ended all too soon, replaced by the agony-filled shriek of one of the gladiators and the collective roar of the crowd as they watched the unfortunate man die. The fight was over. Syuveil tried to fight the panic rising up inside him. It was time, time for him to fight, time for him to die. He had never been this scared in his life. As he stood there, trembling, a man walked into the antechamber and motioned to Syuveil.

"You, stand by that door. Wait until they call your name, then get out there." Syuveil walked towards the door where the man pointed, wondering if anyone would miss him after he was dead. _My parents would have, I suppose, if they were alive._ And then suddenly, triggered by the thought of his parents, a memory emerged from the depths of Syuveil's mind, a memory of something that, long ago, his father had said to him on one of the many occasions when Syuveil was refusing to leave the house, terrified of one bully or another. He'd seemed to attract them like flies when he was younger. "Syuveil," his father had said, putting his arm around his petrified son, "there is no shame in being afraid. Everybody feels fear, and those who say that being makes you a coward are fools. The only cowards are the ones who give into their fear, let it rule their lives. What really defines a man's worth is how he faces his fear. He can either run and hide, or he can confront his fear with his head held high." His father had finished by looking deep into Syuveil's tear-filled eyes. "So which do you choose, boy?"

_What really defines a man's worth is how he faces his fear…_Syuveil squared his shoulders, his face set in grim resolve. The memory of his father's words had given him new heart. He would not go trembling like a scared child to his death; he would face it like a man, straight-backed and proud. His fear was no longer petrifying, but a small worry that Syuveil easily pushed aside. If he had to die today, he would have it said that he died as a warrior, not a coward.

Just then, the Arena announcer's voice, magnified by the arcane craft of the Wingies, boomed out across the ring. "Well, that was one hell of a fight, ladies and gentlemen! Our next battle should be even more entertaining!" The crowd screamed in anticipation. "We have some fresh meat for the Giganto, Magnar, to feast on today! A new slave, fresh from Weapons Master Kane's training! Good people, please welcome today's next victim, Syuuuuveillll!" The moment had come. Syuveil hefted his spear and walked out into the ring on steady legs, ignoring the loud boos and jeering laughter of the Wingly spectators. They were nothing to him, they were less than nothing. All that mattered was what was about to come out of that door on the opposite wall.

"And now, here's the moment you've all been waiting for!" the announcer cried, raising his magically enhanced voice to be heard over the yelling of the crowd. "Here he is, an arena favorite, and certainly a real crowd-pleaser, ladies and gentlemen, the Giganto warrior, Maaaagnaaar! The door on the wall opposite Syuveil swung open, and he finally beheld the fighter that had been lurking in his imagination every minute since that morning.

He must have been ten feet tall, at the very least, so enormous that he dwarfed everything around him. Every single inch of his body was corded with muscle that rippled and bunched as he moved closer to Syuveil. Every step he took seemed to make the ground tremble; he must have weighed four hundred pounds. But as terrifying as his titanic physique was, his face was, if possible, even scarier. His lips were parted in an evil, sadistic grin that revealed a mouth full of rotting, yellow teeth and stretched and twisted the blood-red war paint he'd put on his face. His white eyes shone with a sickeningly eager light that made Syuveil shiver. A macabre necklace of skulls was looped around his neck, and another made a belt around his waist, presumably from previous kills in the arena. Syuveil didn't have to count them; he could tell that there were many. His black hair was long and shaggy, reaching down past his shoulders to the middle of his back. In his huge hands he carried a gigantic, double-bladed battle axe, the edges of which gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun.

The Giganto warrior took one look at Syuveil, and a deep, malignant-sounding rumble bubbled up out of his throat. _He's laughing at me,_ Syuveil realized. He could only imagine how comical he must look, a small, skinny youth dressed in leather armor with only a spear, up against a ten-foot tall Giganto with a huge battle axe. He was surprised the whole crowd wasn't falling over laughing at him. Ignoring Magnar's derisive mirth, Syuveil leveled his spear and waited for the announcer's command.

"FIGHT!" the announcer yelled. Syuveil did not charge in, but stayed back, waiting for his opponent to come to him. He never made the first move in a fight, as he had learned a long time ago that charging in heedlessly usually got you killed. His strengths lay not in running after a foe and attacking him again and again until he dropped, but in finding weaknesses in his enemy's fighting and exploiting them to his advantage. He fought with his brain just as much as his spear. Nothing he did in combat was ever random; every strike had a purpose, every move he made had a reason behind it. This smart approach to fighting was one of the reasons he was so good at spear fighting. Unfortunately, it would prove useless here. Magnar was too big, too good of a fighter. Syuveil's only hope was to stay out of his reach, dodge his attacks and counter with quick, fast strikes in an attempt to tire him out. It was a faint hope at best. As a Giganto, Magnar's endurance far exceeded that of a Human. Syuveil would most likely drop dead of exhaustion before Magnar even started breathing hard. But Syuveil had no other choice. There was no way he could stand up to Magnar in close quarters combat; with Magnar's immense strength Syuveil wouldn't last longer than a minute. The battle was hopeless. The best Syuveil could do was give Magnar a good fight before he died.

Magnar ran at Syuveil, roaring like a wild animal, swinging the double-bladed axe at Syuveil's head. Syuveil ducked under the cut and sent two blindingly fast thrusts of his spear at Magnar's torso, each strike drawing blood. They did no more than irritate the Giganto, though. He gave a snarl of rage and brought his axe down in a brutal chop. Syuveil sidestepped it and struck again at Magnar, the blow glancing off his ribs and leaving a thin red line across his side, but again having no effect other than to make the titanic warrior angry. Once more he attacked Syuveil and once more Syuveil evaded the attack and struck back. The battle fell into a perilous rhythm. Evade, strike. Evade, strike. Evade, strike. The crowd was yelling at him, calling him a coward and screaming for him to fight fairly. _You fools, _Syuveil thought, _if I fight fairly, I'll be dead for sure._

Unfortunately, it looked like that was going to be the case anyway, whether he fought fairly or not. He was already starting to tire, his breathing coming hard and fast and sweat pouring down his face. He couldn't keep this up forever, there was no way. Magnar's skin was as tough as any metal armor; Syuveil's strikes were little more than mosquito bites to him. And he couldn't keep dodging Magnar's strikes, either. Sooner or later, one was going to connect with him, and then he would be dead.

As if in answer to Syuveil's thoughts, Magnar's axe swung upward, the wickedly sharp edge coming straight for Syuveil's torso. Syuveil jerked away, but not quickly enough. The blade tore through his leather breastplate like parchment, rending the skin of Syuveil's chest in a deep, bloody gash. However, the axe hadn't cloven him in two as Magnar had undoubtedly intended, for which Syuveil sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Soa. However, the wound was still very serious. Blood soaked the remnants of his breastplate, turning the brown leather black, and Syuveil could feel what was left of his strength rapidly evaporating. Magnar, apparently sensing that his victim was almost finished, pressed the attack, hammering at Syuveil relentlessly. It took all of Syuveil's skill to check the blows. Each blocked strike sent shock waves up his arms. Syuveil couldn't take much more of this.

As Syuveil lifted his spear to block a particularly vicious cut from Magnar's battle-axe, the Giganto slammed a foot into his unprotected stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying to the ground. As Syuveil lay groaning, Magnar swung his great axe yet again, attempting to finish Syuveil off. Syuveil raised his spear to block it, but the axe blade sheared right through the wood of the handle, chopping Syuveil's weapon in two and continuing on down towards Syuveil's head. Only pure reflex saved him. Syuveil rolled away from the strike not a moment too soon; he could actually feel the breeze from the axe as it sailed about a millimeter past Syuveil's skull. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the only weapon that was available to him: the bladed end of his broken spear. Magnar looked at him holding such a puny weapon and laughed again, his mouth twisting into a smirk. He made a last desperate attack with the spear blade, but Magnar simply grabbed his hand and twisted it. Syuveil screamed in agony. He could feel the bones of his wrist breaking in Magnar's iron grip. The pain nearly robbing him of coherent thought, he did the only thing he could think of: he kicked out and slammed his foot right between Magnar's legs.

Magnar gave a howl of pain and let go of Syuveil's wrist. The young warrior let out a gasp of relief and staggered back, holding his shattered hand. His respite was short-lived, however, as Magnar dropped his axe, came charging in at Syuveil, and picked him up by the throat, his hands tightening around Syuveil's neck as he slowly started to choke the life out of him. Syuveil's vision started to go dark as his lungs were deprived of air. There was only one thing he could do. Gripping the broken spear that he still held in his hand, he plunged it into one of Magnar's white eyes.

Magnar gave a bloodcurdling shriek as the spear tore through the jelly of his eye. Syuveil barely had time to pull his weapon out before the Giganto flung him to the ground. He scampered back as far away from the screaming warrior as he could, but it was nowhere near far enough. Driven nearly mad by the agony, Magnar charged at Syuveil with incredible speed for one so big and, before Syuveil could even think of trying to avoid it, slammed a giant fist into Syuveil's skull. It was like being hit in the head with a boulder. Lights flashed in front of Syuveil's eyes, and he blacked out for an instant, but only an instant, for he was jerked back to consciousness as Magnar slammed another fist into Syuveil's torso, shattering his ribs. Syuveil barely had time to cry out in pain before Magnar picked him up and threw him into the wall of the Arena. His head smacked against the bricks, and the pain was so severe he was sure it had split open. Lying dazed, slumped against the Arena wall, he saw Magnar pick up his axe and raise it over his head, a savage look on his face, blood pouring from his mutilated eye.

Reacting on instinct, Syuveil took the broken spear, which, amazingly, was still in his hand, and rammed it into a weak spot on the side of his knee, the blade shearing through muscle and tendon. Magnar fell to the ground like his legs had been cut off. Syuveil wasted no time. Scrambling to his feet, he jumped on top of the Giganto's chest and drove the spear into his throat with all his strength.

Blood gushed out of Magnar's mouth. He tried to scream, but Syuveil's spear had cut his windpipe in two. His hand scrabbled in the dirt for his axe in a vain attempt to take Syuveil down with him, but his body was rapidly losing strength as his life poured out of his neck. He jerked spasmodically, once, twice, then stopped as the light went out of his one remaining eye.

The crowd went silent, as if it couldn't believe what had just happened. Then, as one, it gave a deafening roar. "Soa smite me!" the announcer cried. "The Human killed Magnar! I don't think anyone was expecting that to happen! The underdog won!"

One of the doors leading out of the Arena opened and two Wingly attendants rushed out and helped Syuveil to his feet. "Come with me," one said. "I'll take you to the Healer." The Wingly led Syuveil back through the antechamber and down a short series of corridors until they came to a door. "This is the Healing Chamber, where the Healer resides. He'll tend to your wounds and have you ready to fight again in no time."

Syuveil walked into the room and saw an old, wizened Wingly standing there. "Another slave to be healed?" the man asked. Syuveil nodded. "Very well then. Don't move." Closing his eyes, he extended his hands, and a great warmth suddenly spread throughout his body. He felt the gash in his chest seal up, felt the broken bones of his wrist and ribcage knit, felt the pain in his head recede and the bruises around his throat disappear. The old Wingly opened his eyes and lowered his hands. "You should be fine now. Go back to your cell and get some rest."

Syuveil walked back to his cell, an ecstatic feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the healing process he'd just been through. He had survived! He had won! He would live another day! If he hadn't been so tired, he would have jumped up in the air, shouting for joy.

When he arrived at his cell, he found Kanzas waiting for him, a look of incredulity in his eyes. "You're alive?" he asked, sounding shocked. "You're better than I thought. I was sure that Magnar would tear you apart."

"He damn near did," Syuveil replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to get some sleep." The only thing the healing hadn't taken care of was his extreme exhaustion.

Kanzas nodded and moved aside to let Syuveil into his cell. Syuveil threw himself down onto his bed, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he found himself drifting into soft, blissful oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it

A loud _clang_ cut through the cool evening air as the dying gladiator's sword slipped from his weakening fingers and fell to the ground, steel clattering on brick as it hit. The doomed man stared up at Syuveil, his mouth slightly open in an expression of shock. No sound escaped his lips, though. _Strange, _thought Syuveil. The other four had died screaming, their shrieks of pain sending chills up Syuveil's spine as he cut them down, yet this man made no sound; no moan of anguish, no whimper of pain, nothing. Except for his eyes. His eyes spoke volumes. The were wide with fear and clouded with agony, yet it seemed to Syuveil that there was also a hint of pleading in them as well, as if the man was silently imploring him for help. _Does he think I can save him? Or is he begging for death?_ The blade of Syuveil's glaive had torn through the man's stomach, shredding his intestines to ribbons. He would be a long time in dying, yet eventually, it would happen. He was as good as dead.

The gladiator sank to his knees, his hands grabbing at his belly in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, as if that alone could save his life. He was still looking at Syuveil with that same pleading in his eyes, the wordless begging that was more horrible than all the deathscreams of his dead companions. The Wingly crowd, that thrice-damned mob that it was Syuveil's life to appease daily, was on its feet, screaming, _"FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!"_ Syuveil leveled the point of the bloodstained glaive at the man's chest, marking the spot where he knew the heart was, the place where the killing blow would fall. He could give the man a quick death, at least. He didn't want to kill the man, but he had no choice. _Soa forgive me, _he prayed silently as he drove the glaive through the man's chest. Even as cold steel ripped into his heart, the man still made no sound. He twitched once, then, as Syuveil pulled his weapon out, he fell to the ground and lay still, his body joining the corpses of his comrades strewn across the Arena.

Syuveil looked sadly down at the dead gladiator, barely registering the cheers that were erupting all around him. His mind was elsewhere, he had no time for the meaningless roars of the mob. _How can anyone take joy in this? _He'd been fighting as an Arena gladiator for almost two years now, yet still felt regret whenever he killed a man. He could think of nothing more pointless than this senseless slaughter, this careless disregard for life. _They would have killed me just as quickly,_ Syuveil reminded himself. _I had to do it_. This was true, but it didn't make it any easier.

Syuveil spun on his heel, turning his back on the crowd, the Arena, and the dead men, and walked out of the ring, passing on his way the men whose job it was to dispose of the corpses. Syuveil got the feeling that those men didn't like him very much. _I give them too much work_. He trudged through the corridors, his feet treading the path back to his cell, as he did after every fight. Along the way, other gladiators hailed him, shouting empty congratulations. Syuveil gave them no more reply other than a curt nod. Except for Kanzas, he wasn't friends with any of the other warriors. That just made it hurt more when he saw them die. Or worse, when he had to kill them.

He hated his life. If the training under Kane had been harsh, this was nothing short of hell. Every day he fought for his life, not knowing when he rose from his bed in the morning if he was going to live long enough to make it back. The battles were brutal contests that drained him of all strength, and there never seemed to be any end to them. It was a never-ending cycle of bloodshed. He'd wake up, strap on his armor, and walk out into the ring to the jeers of the mob, and there, facing him, would be another foe, another man he had to kill. They would fight, and then there would be another corpse on the ground, another bloodstain on the edge of his glaive, another meaningless death. Then it would be over, and he would leave the ring, walk back to his cell, and fall down in grief and exhaustion onto his bed, where sleep would give him a couple hours rest from all the death, if he was lucky.

If he was unlucky, and sleep refused to come, he would spend the time until his next match sparring with Kanzas, or sometimes just lie staring at the ceiling, thinking about death. It was only natural that a man who killed every day would become interested in the mysteries of life and death. The main question on his mind was, 'What happens to us when we die?' He asked himself that question over and over again during the countless hours he spent in his cell, lost deep in thought. He knew where he'd come from: all life came from Soa's Divine Tree, everyone knew that, but where would he go after death? Had Soa created an afterlife when he'd made Endiness all those millennia ago? If not, then what had happened to all those people that Syuveil had killed? What had been their fate? Had Syuveil sent them to an otherworldly paradise up in the heavens? Or had he merely consigned their souls to spend eternity in oblivion?

It didn't take long for Syuveil to become obsessed with the subject. He spent nearly all of his spare time thinking about it, inwardly cursing the Arena for its lack of a library that he could use for research. Kanzas, of course, said he was just being stupid, and that having your mind on anything but your next battle was a sure ticket to an early death. Syuveil ignored this. Kanzas was a skilled warrior, better than he could even dream of being, but in matters of the mind, Syuveil was far superior. Learned Wingly scholars studied life and death in Mayfil, he knew; that city would surely contain a wealth of information. Maybe if he could get himself sold to Mayfil…but that was a hopeless thought at best. Like it or not, he was one of the best fighters the Arena had to offer, and they weren't going to give him up easily.

Arriving at his cell, Syuveil was greeted by the familiar scowl of his only friend in the hellhole that was the Imperial Arena, Kanzas. Syuveil walked into his cell, hiding a smile as he stripped off his armor. Despite all of Kanzas' vehement assertions that he didn't give a damn about anyone but himself, he always waited for Syuveil after a match, betraying some small amount of affection.

"So, you're still alive, are you?" Kanzas snarled as Syuveil sat down and began to clean the blood off of his glaive

Syuveil smirked. "Worried?" he asked Kanzas, knowing it would incense him.

"Fuck you."

Syuveil laughed. The pleasure of teasing Kanzas was one of the only things that had kept him sane during the past two years. He finished wiping the gore off of his weapon and lifted it up for inspection. The wickedly curved edge gleamed faintly in the dim torchlight "Want to spar?" he asked.

Kanzas shrugged. "Why the hell not?" Without another word, he started to walk down the corridor. Syuveil set the glaive down and fell into step beside him. He had grown to like Kanzas, despite the man's violent personality and angry demeanor. It was good to have a friend again, although Kanzas would scorn to call it friendship. Syuveil often wondered how two people so different could become friends. _He lusts for blood the same way that other men lust for women_, Syuveil thought to himself. Kanzas was the only gladiator Syuveil knew who actually liked fighting. He cackled with glee every time he killed an opponent, and kept a kind of grim tally of his bloody victories by making a mark on the wall of his cell for each defeated foe. The marks covered all of one wall and half of another. Syuveil had tried to count them once, but had lost count somewhere around forty. Kanzas was his friend, yet he could not even begin to comprehend how someone could enjoy killing so much.

Yet for all his bloodthirsty ways, Syuveil got the sense that violence did not totally rule this man's life. He cared enough to wait for Syuveil after his fights, after all, which suggested that the man was loyal to those he termed friends. Admittedly, those people were extremely few, but for men like Syuveil, who had been able to gain some small measure of friendship, Kanzas made a good friend.

Of himself, Kanzas spoke little. Syuveil knew nothing of his past except that he had been sent to the Arena for murdering some high-ranking Wingly official. Whenever Syuveil tried to probe deeper, he was rebuffed with a curt "bugger off". This mildly irritated Syuveil, but he could understand him not wanting to speak of it.

Syuveil made no attempt at conversation as they walked to the sparring ring; he knew from experience that Kanzas was not the most sociable of men. When they arrived, Syuveil grabbed one of the blunted spears and turned to face Kanzas, who was strapping steel vambraces to his forearms, the only concession he made to armor.

"You ready, kid?" Kanzas asked.

"Always."

They kept at it for an hour, Syuveil's quickness and precision against the savage brutality of Kanzas' bare-fisted strikes. Syuveil was about ready to call a halt when he saw Kanzas straighten up and look at something over Syuveil's shoulder. Syuveil turned and felt chills run up his spine. In the doorway stood Lord Malavis, the sadistic owner of the Arena, his eyes glinting with a cruelty that even Kanzas could not hope to match. He was the terror of the whole Arena. It was said that he'd once ordered a slave disemboweled for not bowing low enough. The very gaze of his eyes made Syuveil shudder.

Syuveil almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to kneel. Kanzas stayed afoot long enough to give him a disdainful look before kneeling as well. _What could he possibly want with us? _Syuveil thought frantically. _We've done nothing wrong that I know of, we're two of his best slaves, why is he coming to see us?_

"Rise," Malavis snapped, and both slaves got to their feet. The Wingly looked them over, the cruelty in his eyes mixing with the contemptuous look that all Winglies got when they were in the presence of Humans. "You both are to be sold tomorrow," he said, without preamble. "A Wingly noble from Zenebatos named Baron Stark is buying you as his personal bodyguards." He spit the words out as if they tasted foul, and Syuveil could tell that Malavis liked this arrangement not at all. This Stark person must be influential. He snapped back to attention; Malavis was talking again.

"You'll report to the teleporter at first light. Be there, or answer to me." Giving them a dark look, he turned and stalked off.

It took a moment for the realization to sink into Syuveil's mind, but once it did, relief swept over him so fast it made him feel faint. He was leaving the Arena. No more fighting, no more killing, no more dying, it was done, over. He would have a comfortable life guarding a Wingly baron from now on. He doubted he'd have to do much fighting; no one would be foolish enough to attack a Wingly noble. A smile played on his lips. He looked over at Kanzas and saw, to his astonishment, that the normally dour warrior was looking positively gleeful.

"Kanzas? What's with the grin?"

"I've just figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"It's perfect, Syuveil, _perfect_! It's going to work, I just know it!" he cried, now almost dancing with joy

Syuveil was slightly worried now. "Are you okay? How hard did I hit you back there?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Kanzas snapped, a flicker of his usual self showing through his happiness. "I've got a plan."

"What kind of plan?" Syuveil asked, wondering if maybe his friend had finally cracked.

"Quiet, fool! Not here. Too many people listening. I'll tell you when it's safer." He jerked his head towards the doorway. "C'mon, let's go get some sleep."

"Are you sure you're okay? I haven't seen you this happy since that time they put you up against ten men at once."

"Damn it, I told you I was fine. Now shut up and quit bothering me. I need to think." Kanzas walked through and disappeared down the dark corridor. Syuveil watched him go, completely and utterly confused. What in the name of Soa could have brought on such a bizarre change in his friend? _Maybe it's because we're being sold_. No, that couldn't be it. Kanzas _loved _fighting._ It must be something else. But what? And what the hell was that about a plan? _

"Hey kid," Kanzas yelled. "You comin' or not?"

"Be right there," Syuveil called back. _I'll think on it tomorrow_, he said to himself, as he raced ahead, trying to catch up with Kanzas.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's Note: For anyone that cares, I've finally put a bio on my profile page, so if you get bored and need something to do, you can click on the link and find out a bit more about me if you want.

Syuveil stumbled around his cell, trying to collect all his belongings, his mind still not completely awake yet. He'd been woken five minutes ago by the toe of Kanzas' boot and a gruff, "Get up. It's time." He shook his head like a dog trying to rid its ears of water in an attempt to clear his brain of its tired haze as he staggered around, looking for his armor and weapons.

"Hurry it up, will ya?" Kanzas yelled at him. "We don't have all day!"

"Give me a second," Syuveil snapped. "I just woke up."

"Tough luck, kid," Kanzas growled. "We've gotta be at the teleporter by first light or we're dead men, remember? Get your shit together and let's go!" Cursing under his breath, Syuveil rounded up his possessions as fast as he could and met Kanzas outside of his cell.

"About damn time," Kanzas muttered at him. "C'mon, then." They set off through the pitch-black corridors in silence. Having woken up properly now, Syuveil looked at what little he could see of the stone walls of the Arena, his body filling with happiness. He was finally leaving the Arena, leaving the hell that had been his life for two years. This was the last time he would have to walk these hallways. Never again would he be woken up by a guard's curse and the butt of a spear against his ribs. Never again would he have to eat the same cold gruel every day. Never again would he have to sleep on straw. He was just wistfully imagining how wonderful it would be to sleep on a real bed again when he suddenly remembered something.

"So, what's this plan of yours that you were raving about last night?" he asked. That question had bugged him all night. He'd tossed and turned for hours puzzling it out. It was so bizarre. He'd never seen Kanzas act so strangely before, and was at a loss to figure out what could have brought it on.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Kanzas shot at him. "_Not here! _Too many ears. I'll tell you when we're safely out of this place. Now shut up and don't ask me again." They continued walking in silence until, for the last time, they passed through the double doors that led out of the Imperial Arena.

"Alright, now that we're out, what is it?" Kanzas glared at him. Syuveil knew that he was pushing the issue well past the point of sense, but he couldn't help it. He liked to know things, and the fact that Kanzas knew something that he didn't was eating him alive.

"Quiet." Kanzas snarled. "Wait until we're a good distance away."

_Why is he being so paranoid about this?_ Syuveil wondered as he lapsed reluctantly into silence. He puzzled this question to himself as they walked, becoming lost in his thoughts, until Kanzas turned to him and said, "Okay, this is far enough."

"Finally!" Syuveil groaned. "Tell me."

"Kanzas sneered. "Impatient little bastard. Calm down before you burst."

"Are you going to tell me or not?" Syuveil asked testily. He was tired of being left in the dark.

"We're going to escape."

Syuveil stood still a moment as the full impact of these words sunk in. He stared at Kanzas with a dumbfounded expression on his face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to find an answer for his friend's last words. Finally, he managed to get out one stammered word. "E…escape?" Kanzas nodded. "Escape." Syuveil repeated, as if he couldn't quite believe it. His mind wasn't working properly. He couldn't think. "As in escaping the Arena?" he asked stupidly, knowing that wasn't the answer.

Kanzas made a noise of derision. "As in escaping the Winglies, fool. Escaping slavery."

"You've had a plan for us to escape all this time and you're just _now_ letting me in on it!" Syuveil almost shrieked, his feeling of numb disbelief replaced by one of exasperated anger. "Are you INSANE! Why didn't you tell me sooner! How am I supposed to know what to do on the spur of the moment like this!" He couldn't believe that even Kanzas would do something this stupid. "If you'd told me earlier I could have helped you!" he yelled. "These things require planning! They need to be thought out for weeks! Months, even! Something you just thought of last night won't work! It'll just get us both killed!"

Kanzas raised a hand to stem the flow of Syuveil's tirade. "Stop yelling, idiot," he snapped. "You wanna bring the whole city down on us?" Syuveil quieted, though he was still seething with irritation.

"So what's this plan of yours?" he asked angrily. "Come on, spill it. Let's see just how ridiculous it is."

Kanzas ignored Syuveil's last comment. "It's simple. Nothing that requires months of planning. There'll be guards at the teleporter to escort us to Zenebatos When I give the word, help me kill them. That's all. It's that easy."

"Oh, of course!" Syuveil shrieked, a high-pitched note of hysteria rising in his voice. "It's that easy! No trouble there, not at all!"

"You don't have to come, you know," Kanzas said irritably. "You're more than welcome to remain a slave. I can kill the guards myself."

"No, I'll come," Syuveil said, though not without a certain amount of grumbling. He glared at Kanzas. "If I die because of your bloody plan, I swear by the Divine Tree, I will hunt you all throughout hell."

Kanzas affected an air of mock terror. "Oh, no, I'm trembling." He let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "C'mon, we're wasting time. Let's go."

Syuveil fell into step beside Kanzas, his hands trembling with a mixture of anger and terror. _Yep, this clinches it, _Syuveil thought._ He's lost his mind. Gone completely insane. _To be sure, Kanzas had always been half-mad, but this was just plain suicidal. And he was taking Syuveil down with him. _The very least he could have done was give me a choice in the matter._

As he had done many, many times before, Syuveil fell to wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve such a fate. And a horrible fate it was. Guards didn't kill slaves who tried to escape, they just sent them back to their masters, letting the masters deal with their rebellious property. In the case of Syuveil's master, Lord Malavis, who was quite possibly one of the cruelest, most sadistic Winglies to ever draw breath, his punishment would be most horrific indeed. The tales of what this man had done were too terrifyingly chilling to even think about for very long. Syuveil found himself remembering what had happened to one man who had actually dared strike Malavis. The brutal Wingly lord had smeared the man with the blood and entrails of dead animals, then stuck him in a cramped iron cage and hung him from the top of the Arena. It hadn't been long before the carrion crows smelled the animal guts and flew down to feast. The poor wretch had screamed for weeks as the crows ate him alive, piece by piece. Even the memory of the man's shrieks sent icy fingers down Syuveil's spine. He would take his own life before he went back to face punishment from Malavis.

He was so caught up in his morbid thoughts that he barely noticed that they had arrived at their destination. Ahead the teleporter out of Kadessa throbbed with a sickly green light, illuminating the grim faces of the guards that surrounded it.

"Only six," Kanzas muttered. "We oughta be insulted." He turned to Syuveil. "Alright, this is it, kid. You ready?" Syuveil nodded. "Good. When I say 'now', that's when you do it."

"Enough talking!" one of the guards yelled. "Get over here!"

Kanzas raised a hand in acknowledgement and jerked his head over towards the Wingly guards in a "let's go" gesture. Syuveil followed, his movements showing no hint of the apprehension he was feeling.

"Took you scum long enough to get here," the guard remarked. "You made it just in time to save your miserable skins." He pointed at the first light of the rising sun that was just beginning to appear over the horizon.

"I'm actually disappointed," said another. "I haven't seen a Human drawn and quartered for months. I was hoping that it would happen to you two rats." This comment drew a gale of laughter from the guards, and effectively demolished whatever remorse Syuveil felt for killing these men.

"Stay there while I program the teleporter for Zenebatos," the first guard said. He turned, and Kanzas met Syuveil's eyes. Seeing the look on his friend's face, understanding flared in Syuveil's brain. The moment was here. He moved his hands across his glaive, appearing to the guards to brush a spot of dust off, but in reality tightening his grip on the weapon. A desire to run shot through him, but he quickly mastered it, dispelling the nervous fear that had coursed momentarily through his body. This was no time to be afraid. This was a time to fight.

"NOW!" Kanzas yelled. In a blur of motion, he sped towards the guard setting the teleporter, grabbed the Wingly's head with both hands, and twisted. The sound of his neck breaking shattered the early morning calm. As he fell, his limply hanging head smacked against the teleportation control device.

Another guard ran to stop Kanzas, but Syuveil was already moving to cut him off. His glaive sang through the air and created a red fountain as it sliced open the man's throat. He killed a second guard on his backswing and turned to face a third. It was the young man who had wanted to see Syuveil and Kanzas drawn and quartered. He came rushing at Syuveil, raising his sword upward for a brutal downcut. It was the easiest thing in the world for Syuveil to slip the point of his glaive between the man's ribs and through his heart. The man groaned and fell to the ground, his life leaking out of him as he lay dying.

Syuveil turned, looking for another foe to fight, and saw only Kanzas, wiping blood off of his knuckles. He grinned at Syuveil. "See, kid? Didn't I tell ya it'd be easy?" He looked down at one of the Winglies he'd killed, his lip curling under his mustache into the familiar sneer that came so easily to him. "Dangerous as we are, you'd think they woulda guarded us better." His comment was cut short by the tramp of booted feet against bricks.

"Looks like the guards heard us." Syuveil commented. "Easy as that, right?"

"Shut up and let's get moving."

They hurried over to the teleporter. Kanzas was about to step in when Syuveil laid a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he said. "Where's this thing taking us?"

"How the hell should I know?" Kanzas cried. "You wanna wait and ask them?" He motioned to the sound of the guards, which was rapidly getting closer. "It's now or never!"

"But we could end up right in the middle of Mayfil for all we know!" Syuveil protested.

"Anywhere's better than here! Now COME ON!" Kanzas grabbed Syuveil's arm and pulled him into the teleporter. Instantly, Syuveil's entire body was enshrouded in a glowing green orb. He then felt the incredibly uncomfortable sensation of moving forward at breakneck speed. He began to feel nauseous. It seemed to go on forever, and just when he felt he might vomit, the sensation ended and Syuveil was deposited rather painfully on the ground.

He stood up on shaky legs and looked around. He seemed to be in the middle of a large forest. Snow-covered evergreen trees surrounded him, and frost-covered grass crunched under his boots. "Where are we?" he asked Kanzas.

"Do I look like a map to you, kid?" Kanzas snapped. "You're the genius, you tell me."

"Well, wherever we are, we're certainly not in Gloriano. There aren't any forests like this there."

"Not in Gloriano, eh?" Kanzas said, and Syuveil could almost feel the sarcastic contempt in his voice. "Well, _that _narrows it down. We could be stuck on some rock out in the middle of the ocean, but at least we know we're not in Gloriano."

"Hey, I wanted to check to see where we were headed, remember?" Syuveil said irritably. "If you'd have just let me do that, we'd know exactly where we are."

"Oh, so now you're blaming it on me!"

Syuveil started to reply, but his retort was cut short by a crashing sound off in the bushes. He turned around just in time to see an enormous wolf, about the size of a large horse, come barreling through the undergrowth. The beast stopped short when it saw the two men. Its lips pulled back from its teeth in a savage snarl, and a low, feral growl rumbled up from its throat. Blood from a fresh kill dripped from its jaws.

"You think that thing eats people?" Kanzas asked.

"Feel like hanging around to find out?"

"Nope."

Just as the two turned and ran, the wolf leapt after them. Syuveil could hear it growling as he ran. Branches slapped his face as he raced by. He hurtled over fallen logs, and his feet kicked up clouds of dust as the grass ended to form a dirt path. Beside him, he could hear Kanzas' heavy breathing as the two ran. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Soa for all the conditioning he received in the Arena. Without it, he would be dead already.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he would be alive much longer anyway. The beast was rapidly gaining on them; the snarls were getting closer, and Syuveil could feel the beast's putrid breath on the back of his neck. He pumped his legs harder in a desperate attempt to put some distance between him and the wolf, but to no avail. The thing was still getting closer. Just then, through his panic, Syuveil realized that the trees were beginning to thin out. He glimpsed snowy plains up ahead on the path. Hope flared through him momentarily, but was then snuffed out by the huge, hulking creature that suddenly blocked his view.

The wolf had leapt, not at them, but _over _them, cutting off their escape. Its gigantic body blocked their path out of the forest. With blood matting its fur and its lips pulled back in that terrible snarl, eyes glowing in the sunbeams that shone through the trees, it looked like some evil hellhound from the depths of darkness. Perhaps it was some trick of the light, but the wolf almost looked like it was grinning, a demented, twisted smile that made Syuveil's blood run cold. The wolf gathered itself up for a leap, preparing to charge…and was ensnared by a giant net that was cast so swiftly it seemed to appear out of nowhere. The wolf thrashed around, trying to break free, but the more it struggled, the tighter it became entangled.

Syuveil and Kanzas both looked around wildly, trying to see the unknown assailant who had thrown the net. They didn't have to look far, though, as a shadow slithered down from a nearby tree and raced toward the wolf, hefting an enormous hammer. The weapon must have been lighter than it looked, for the warrior carrying it was still a year or so shy of his teens, judging by his short stature and slim figure. He wielded it easily enough, though, clubbing the helpless wolf brutally until it finally ceased its struggles and lay still.

The boy knelt to tie off the loose ends of the net, trapping the wolf's corpse in a makeshift bag. Syuveil stepped forward, intending to thank the young man for his kindness in rescuing them, but the words caught in his throat as he finally got a good look at their savior. The warrior he'd mistaken for a young boy was actually a girl in her mid-teens, lithe and sword-slim. She was wearing dark, loose-fitting clothes that hid her curves, but up close, her features were definitely female.

The girl straightened up and brushed her long, teal-colored hair out of her eyes. Turning around to face the two men, she flashed a smile that showed off her dazzling white teeth. "Are you two okay?" she asked in a high, lilting voice. Syuveil started to reply, but before he could, Kanzas grabbed his arm and pulled him close.

"Syuveil," Kanzas hissed in his ear, "she's a half-breed."

Syuveil hadn't needed to be told. The scales around the girl's eyes and longer-than-average ears were somewhat of a giveaway that she wasn't entirely human. He could see that just as well as Kanzas. Unlike Kanzas, however, he didn't much care. Wrenching his arm out of the other man's grip, he addressed the young girl. "We're both fine. May the blessings of Soa shine on you for rescuing us."

"It was nothing," the girl replied. If she'd been offended by Kanzas' remark, she took care not to show it. "I needed to kill this beast anyway." She nudged the wolf's corpse with her foot. "I'm glad I could save your lives, though," she added. The girl extended her hand. "I'm Damia. I live in a village just outside the forest"

Syuveil took her hand and shook it. "My name is Syuveil, and this is Kanzas." He motioned to his companion, who nodded coldly, meeting the girl's kind smile with his usual scowl. Syuveil glared at him before turning back to Damia. "We're travelers from Gloriano." It was a lie, but he certainly wasn't going to tell the girl they were escaped slaves. She was looking slightly suspicious, so he cast around for a change of subject. "You wield that hammer quite well," he said, pointing to the girl's weapon. Damia's lips split into a wide grin and her dark red eyes gleamed with pleasure, all suspicion gone. Syuveil got the distinct impression that this was not a person who received praise very often.

"Thank you," she replied, almost shyly. "My mother taught me how to use it." She grabbed the net containing the dead wolf and swung it up over her shoulder, groaning at the weight. "Soa's blood, this thing's _heavy_," she muttered. "It'll be worth it to drag it all the way back to town, though," she said to Syuveil and Kanzas. "Its pelt's worth five thousand gold pieces."

"What are you, girl?" Kanzas asked suddenly, the tone of his voice aggressive. "Some kind of bounty hunter?"

The girl nodded. "Since I was old enough to swing this hammer."

Kanzas laughed derisively. "And how did a little girl like you get into bounty hunting?"

For the first time, Damia's smile faltered. "I wish I didn't have to," she said quietly. As she spoke those words, a shadow passed over her cheerful features. "It's the only way I can make money, though. None of the shops in town will give me a job, on account of me being part mermaid."

The look on Kanzas' face suggested that he couldn't quite blame them, but for once, he held his tongue. Damia took advantage of his silence to talk to Syuveil, the shadow now gone from her face. "If you and your companion need a place to stay, you're welcome to come with me. I'm afraid I don't have much to offer, but at least you'll have a roof over your head."

Syuveil bowed. "Thank you very much. We accept. If it's not too much trouble, that is." Damia laughed.

"Well, aren't you the polite one? Unlike your friend here." She gestured towards Kanzas. "Thank you. It's more than I get from most." She turned away, towards the edge of the forest. "Come on. We're not far from my village. If we hurry, we'll make it before it starts to snow. She began to walk out of the forest, staggering slightly under the weight of the wolf corpse. Syuveil rushed over to her.

"Here, let me help you with that."

"Thanks," she said gratefully, smiling at him. Syuveil hoisted the dead wolf onto his shoulders, and almost immediately regretted it. She hadn't been kidding. It _was _heavy. Regaining his balance enough to walk, he trod along beside Damia, the girl slowing her pace to match his burdened stride.

"Wimp," Kanzas said beneath his breath. Syuveil ignored him, turning to Damia instead.

"Does this village of yours have a name?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Yes it does," Damia said. "It's called Furni."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it

Author's Note: Sorry about the obscenely long wait (this is what, the third time I've said this?). School has started again, which means I'm really busy, and I'm writing another fic, which has taken up my free time, plus I got grounded. To the…um…two people who review this story regularly, thank you for your patience.

Syuveil gave an inward sigh of relief as Damia's village appeared on the horizon. His knees were beginning to buckle under the weight of the wolf the half-breed girl had killed, and he was still slightly winded after his mad dash for survival away from said wolf. He didn't speak a word of complaint, though. Kanzas was more irritable than usual at the moment, and disliked complaining, even when in the best of moods. Syuveil had no wish to draw the angry warrior's ire onto him unnecessarily, and so kept silent.

Furni, as Damia had named the village, was large compared to most human settlements, though still an insignificant speck compared to the great cities of the Winglies. Its size momentarily surprised Syuveil; he hadn't known humans could build anything big, having lived in an isolated village for most of his life. He took care not to show his surprise, though. Furni was situated on the coast of what Syuveil knew to be Illisa Bay; he could see small ships sailing into what looked like a dock. _They must have a fairly steady trading business_, Syuveil thought to himself, _which has to be why they have the resources to build a larger settlement._ Though what they would trade he could not imagine. Fish, probably.

As the three reached the edge of the village, Syuveil noticed, with a jolt of amazement, that most of the houses were made out of brick, something almost unheard of among humans. The only place Syuveil had ever heard of that contained bricks was the legendary city Vellweb, and Syuveil wasn't sure if that city even existed. Oh, sure, there were rumors, rumors of an enormous, beautiful city, a safe haven where humans could live in peace, and where resistance to the cruel Wingly regime flourished, led by Emperor Diaz and the mythical Dragoons, but Syuveil didn't hold much stock by rumors. More than likely it was some fool trying to spread false hope among the humans, probably just out of sheer spite.

_The Dragoons, though…the Dragoons could exist_. The Tale of the Seven Heroes had been one of Syuveil's favorite stories as a child. According to the legend, humanity had been in danger of extinction by the dragons before the Winglies rose to power. When it had seemed all was lost, seven humans, using the power of strange stones called Dragoon Spirits, subdued the dragons and bent them to their will, saving the human race. Then, apparently, they vanished. Supposedly it was just a myth, a story designed to thrill small children, but shortly before he had become a slave, Syuveil had come across something in his books that made him think otherwise. Some time earlier graves had inadvertently been discovered by a couple of men, graves containing bodies, as it was later discovered, dating back to the time when the legend was supposed to have occurred. The bodies (or what was left of them) bore the marks of wounds consistent with the claws and teeth of dragons. Admittedly, that by itself meant little, but Syuveil had found something else as well, years ago when he had been a slave in Agilis, evidence that was much stronger.

Apparently, a group of Wingly scientists had investigated the legend as well, and discovered a large area of land where some kind of battle had taken place. According to the scientists, the land still bore the unmistakable signs of powerful magic having been performed there, magic different from that of the Winglies'. Somehow, they were able to give an estimate date when the magic had been performed, and again, it was around the time that the struggle with the dragons was supposed to have taken place. This had made Syuveil wonder. What if the legend was true?

Syuveil shook his head roughly, bringing himself back to the present. Whether or not the Dragoons had existed, they certainly weren't around now, so the point was moot. _Besides_, he told himself, _we've got bigger problems to worry about. Malavis will have sent someone after us by now; it's only a matter of time before they find out where we are. And we may be in even more danger than that, _he thought, looking around. _These people don't seem to be very friendly_.

They were well into the village, and every person they had passed had given them a look of extreme dislike, a gaze that bordered on hatred. Their angry eyes followed the three as they walked, and Syuveil could almost feel the mistrust. One man had even tried to go after them, starting towards them with his hand on the hilt of his dagger. Syuveil had grabbed for his glaive, almost dropping the wolf corpse, but luckily another man restrained the angry villager, muttering something in his ear. The villagers' attitudes slightly worried Syuveil, but also puzzled him. They'd barely been in town ten minutes, what could they possibly have done? Maybe the villagers just didn't like strangers. Syuveil could hardly blame them for that. In these times, it was hard to find someone to trust. Anyone could be an informer for the Winglies, gathering information on an as-yet-undiscovered human settlement. He increased his pace, keeping an eye on the villagers and a hand near his weapon.

"Where are we going?" Kanzas asked suddenly, speaking for the first time in a long while.

"We're headed to the Resident Warrior. I need to collect the bounty on that wolf."

Kanzas nodded, but said nothing. The grim-faced fighter had remained in a brooding silence all the way to Furni. Syuveil got the impression that he wasn't happy with having a half-breed as a companion. Or maybe he just didn't like Damia. Kanzas usually judged people by how well they fought, and as far as Syuveil could tell, the girl hadn't impressed him. True, it took quite a lot to impress Kanzas, but Syuveil had a feeling that it would take nothing short of a miracle for him to warm up to Damia.

Syuveil, on the other hand, was starting to quite like Damia. She was a cheerful young girl, and cheer had been scarce in Syuveil's life for the past few years. She reminded him of his little sister. His sister had had much the same personality, and was around the same age as Damia when she died. The thought brought a pang to his heart. He missed his sister. It was hard to be sad for long around Damia, though. Her mere presence on the walk from the forest to Furni had made Syuveil feel better. Her liveliness had been infectious, and Syuveil couldn't help but grin at her attitude, something he hadn't done in a long time. She'd told jokes, laughed easily, and when she'd smiled, her eyes glittered with a bright light that made the air around her seem to glow.

Syuveil couldn't shake the sense, however, that Damia's jovial persona was merely a façade, a cover to mask darker feelings. They'd discussed her early life briefly when they'd talked on the way to Furni, and to hear her tell it, she'd had a rougher time of it even than him. She'd never known who her father was, and her mother, a mermaid, had died when she was eight. She'd had to make her own way in the world after that, turning to bounty hunting to make a living, all the time dealing with the people of Furni, all of whom seemed determined to punish her for the so-called crime of being part mermaid. She was reluctant to go into details about what they did to her, but the way her face tightened when she talked of it spoke volumes. Syuveil shifted the weight of the wolf on his shoulders and sighed. He'd had little pity over the past few years to spare for anyone but himself, but now his heart gave a little twinge of sympathy for Damia. She deserved it more than he did, he felt.

They walked on in silence. Syuveil's shoulders were beginning to get sore now, and his feet were starting to hurt from the hard pace. "How much farther?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Getting tired?"

"I…It's not that…" Syuveil stammered, embarrassed. Damia laughed.

"Don't worry, we're nearly there. Just around this corner."

They turned where Damia indicated and arrived in front of a large building. They walked inside, passing a scroll of parchment affixed to the door that read, _Reward: 5,000 gold pieces for the pelt of the Evergreen Wolf_. Smiling slightly, Syuveil followed Damia to a man standing at a round, wooden table, deeply immersed in what appeared to be a map of the region.

"Resident Warrior Heinrich?" Damia asked as they approached. The man looked up, tearing his eyes away from the map. He saw Damia and scowled, his face twisting in anger.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I'm here for the bounty on the wolf," Damia replied, apparently choosing not to comment on the man's rudeness. "Five thousand gold pieces, I think it was."

The man's glare deepened, then without a word he turned on his heel and stalked off through a door at the far end of the room, returning a few minutes later with a small leather bag. He thrust it at Damia, still glowering at her. "There," he said curtly. "Take it and go." He turned to Syuveil. "You can leave the beast with me," he said, and Syuveil dropped the corpse on the ground, flexing his aching back and shoulders.

"Hang on," said Damia, opening the bag and making a swift eye count. "There's only five hundred coins in here. The bounty was five thousand."

"No it wasn't," the man growled irritably, waving his hand at her. "Now get out."

"That's what it says on the parchment over there," she persisted, not yielding an inch.

The man glanced at the parchment with great distaste, then, taking a quill and ink from the round table, walked over to it and crossed out the zero at the end of the five thousand. "Not anymore," he said nastily, his eyes glinting with malice. "Get out of my sight, half-breed, and be glad I'm giving you that much."

Damia's eyes narrowed, a scowl darkening her face. Syuveil's hand flew to his weapon, a hot jolt of anger flaring through him. "You son of a…" he started to yell, but Damia grabbed his arm. Syuveil could feel her hand shaking with barely suppressed rage.

"Don't, Syuveil," she hissed to him. "_Please_."

"But…"

"Syuveil, _don't_." Her fingers tightened on his arm, her eyes silently pleading with him.

Seething, Syuveil let go of his glaive, reluctantly conceding defeat. The man smirked. "Wise choice, half-breed. Now get out of here." Damia walked out without looking back, and Syuveil and Kanzas followed.

"How can you let that bastard do that to you?" Syuveil yelled angrily as they headed away from the building. "Why didn't you at least stand up for yourself?" He looked at Damia incredulously. Syuveil was far from a violent person, but even he would have done something to Heinrich, had it been him.

"Syuveil, it's just not worth hammering him and then getting thrown in jail," Damia said wearily. "They're just looking for something to arrest me for."

"Looks like cowardice from where I'm sitting," Kanzas said acidly. "I would have killed the man who did that to me, and to hell with the consequences." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Damia. "I think you're just afraid, half-breed."

Damia jerked like she'd been slapped. She rounded on Kanzas furiously. "What do you know about it?" she screamed. "You've never had to deal with prejudice in you life, I'll bet! It's never happened to you! You don't know a damn thing!"

Kanzas took a small step away, looking slightly taken aback. He recovered himself quickly, though. "Well, it appears the little girl has some fire in her after all," he said with a sneer. Syuveil could tell he was impressed against his will. "That's good, half-breed. Use that anger a bit more, and maybe you'll survive longer."

Damia glared at him. "There are better ways to live your life other than responding to everything with a fist," she told him, ice in her voice. "Anger isn't always the answer."

"You're right," Kanzas said, "not always." He grinned evilly. "But it is most of the time."

Damia opened her mouth to reply, but cut her words of at the sound of Syuveil's voice. "What?" she asked. In response, Syuveil pointed. Damia turned to follow his finger and let out a soft, "Oh."

Their path was blocked by a group of villagers, angry-looking men with cold eyes and faces twisted up in unexplainable rage. One man was cracking his knuckles, looking threatening, and another was opening and closing his hands convulsively, as though he was longing to get them around somebody's throat. Syuveil again wondered what these men had against them, then wondered if they were going to live long enough to find out. He tensed up, ready to fight, as one of the villagers stepped forward, his face a mask of disgust. He walked up to Damia and spat at her feet.

"Think you're something big now, half-breed?" he said harshly. "You think you actually did something, killing that wolf? Think that actually makes you worth a damn?" His lip curled into a sneer worthy of Kanzas. "You ain't shit, mermaid bitch. You're worth less than dirt, and if we'd had any sense we'd have sold you to the Winglies long ago." The crowd behind him roared their approval, and Syuveil suddenly realized the reason for the hate-filled stares they'd been attracting since their arrival in town. He drew his glaive and stepped up to the man, the curved blade shining in the sunlight. He didn't care if Damia said it wasn't worth it, there was no way he would let this go by.

"Get away from her," he snarled.

The man turned, contempt etched in the cruel lines of his face. "Well, what have we here? A mermaid-lover, eh?" He bared his teeth savagely, the fury in his eyes almost alarming. "You're no better than her, then, if you turn your back on your own race and consort with half-breeds. You make me _sick_."

"Let us pass," growled Kanzas, who had come up to stand beside Syuveil. He glared down at the man, who, for the first time, seemed uneasy. "I said, let us pass." he snapped again. "You won't live long enough to hear me say it a third time."

The man stepped aside. "Move aside," he yelled at the rest of the villagers. "We'll let you go through," he told Kanzas. "For now." As the three walked on, the man screamed at them, "This isn't over yet, half-breed! We'll come for you sooner or later!" Syuveil stiffened, but Damia dug her nails into his arm and he desisted. They kept walking until the mob was out of sight. Suddenly, Damia turned to Kanzas.

"Why did you help me?" she asked, her voice a shade gentler than it had been. "You obviously hate me, so why did you stand up to him?" She was looking at him with wonder in her eyes, as if she were seeing him in a new light. "Perhaps I was wrong about you."

Kanzas laughed. "Like hell you were, half-breed. I didn't do it for you. They were in our way, and plus, Syuveil was fool enough to try and take them on alone. I stood up to them to save _his _ass, not yours."

She sighed. "I suppose it was just wishful thinking, then."

Kanzas smirked. "Yeah, it was."

Syuveil glared at Kanzas, angrier with him than he'd ever been. _Soa be good, why does he have to be so hateful?_ It absolutely blew Syuveil's mind how anyone could possibly have that much anger in them.

Damia turned away. "We've got to get to my house," she said. "It's not far from here." They spent the rest of the walk in total silence, Syuveil still stewing over Kanzas' treatment of Damia. Finally, they passed the village limits and came upon a sandy beach. There was a single shack on the coast, overlooking the water. Damia led them towards it.

Damia's house was sparsely furnished; there was one room, with only a round wooden table in the middle, a space for a cookfire, a small cot in one corner, and a shelf where she kept her meager belongings. "It's not much," she said, "but it's home." Kanzas looked even more disdainful than usual, but made no comment.

Syuveil shrugged off his pack and glaive and set them down. Just then, a flash of light from the direction of the shelf caught his eye. He walked over and saw, on the shelf, a round stone, sea-blue in color. It had a dark marking running down the middle of it, reminding Syuveil of the eye of a cat, or perhaps a dragon.

"Damia," he asked, "what's this?" He indicated the stone.

Damia smiled, a reminiscent gleam brightening up her eyes. "That's the only thing my mother left me before she died. I don't know where she got it, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, I guess. I keep it to remind me of her." She moved over to him. "Mother said it was supposed to have some sort of special power, but I don't know what it is. It's weird, though. It starts to shine when I hold it." She picked it up, and sure enough, the stone began to glow with a teal light, the same color as Damia's hair. She held it for a bit, still smiling, then put it down. The light immediately went out.

"I'll be back," she said, turning towards the door. "I've got to go pick up some things for dinner. Make yourselves at home." She started to walk out.

"Wait," Syuveil called. "Are you sure it's safe? Those guys looked like they meant business."

Damia laughed. "Don't worry, Syuveil. I've got on fine for fifteen years without your help. I think I can manage twenty more minutes." With that, she left.

Syuveil watched her go, a deep sense of foreboding in his guts. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. He would just have to hope she got back safe. His eyes traveled to the stone on Damia's shelf. _That's what the books said the Dragoon Spirits looked like…I wonder if…no. It can't be._

Kanzas was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, staring at nothing, but he looked up when he heard the scrape of chair legs against the floor as Syuveil sat down at the wooden table. "Girlfriend gone, has she?" he asked nastily. Before Syuveil could reply, Kanzas said, "I don't get what you see in her anyway. I've never liked scales on women."

"Shut up," Syuveil snapped. Kanzas smirked.

"Now, now, don't get testy. Just a joke." He looked away and resumed gazing off into space. Syuveil glowered at him for a moment longer, then turned to look out the door, waiting for Damia.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's Note: Thanks to Skibinigagen for putting up a review on the last chapter, and for putting the story on your favorites. Sorry about the wait…again.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Wake up."

A soft voice cut through the black fog of sleep that Syuveil's mind, a small hand gripped his shoulder and shook him, jerking him to awareness. Startled, he grabbed instinctively behind his back for his glaive before remembering he'd set it down in the corner. He rubbed his eyes as Damia giggled, a piping, birdlike trill that was not at all unpleasant to hear.

"Nice to have you with us again," Damia said, a grin on her face, trying not to laugh again.

Syuveil yawned and stretched, trying to ease the pain in his back that came from sleeping in a hard wooden chair. "I guess I dozed off while you were gone," he said groggily, still not quite coherent yet. "It's been a long day."

"It took longer than I thought to get the food," Damia remarked apologetically. "There was a slight disagreement about the price of some fruit." She set the bag she was carrying down on the floor. "Give me a bit, and we'll have fish and some apples for dinner."

A short time later, as the sun was beginning to set on the horizon, they were all three seated around the table, eating. It took a concerted effort on Syuveil's part not to lose control and erupt into tears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real meal. He'd been living on slave slop for so long he'd almost forgotten what actual food tasted like. He ate ravenously, every bite that he chewed and swallowed feeling like the best thing in the world. Beside him, Kanzas was tearing into his food in a similar fashion. Damia watched them both with slight incredulity.

"Hungry, are we?" she asked. Syuveil nodded, his mouth too full of fish to speak. "You must not have had many chances to eat during your journey," Damia remarked.

"What?" Syuveil asked, confused.

"You said you were travelers from Gloriano," Damia said.

"Oh," Syuveil said, remembering his lie. "No, we haven't eaten a lot."

"Where in Gloriano are you from?"

"Um…it's up in the northern part," Syuveil said evasively. "It's a rather small village, most people haven't heard of it."

"What's it called?"

"Well, we never really gave it a name."

Damia was beginning to look suspicious, making Syuveil uneasy. They would have enough trouble avoiding Wingly search parties without anyone else knowing they were escaped slaves. He wasn't lying about his village; it _was _in the northern part of Gloriano, and it was true that no one had ever given it a name, but his answers didn't seem to be satisfying the girl, even if they were true.

"You must have had a hard time crossing the Kashua Glacier," Damia remarked, still looking mistrustful. Syuveil could tell her statement was meant to gauge Syuveil's reaction; her eyes were closely watching him, searching, trying to see through him.

Unfortunately, he had no idea what the Kashua Glacier was. "Yeah, we did," he said simply, hoping she would be content with that.

She wasn't. "I hope you didn't meet a Windigo," she said, her eyes narrowed. "Those things kill anyone who crosses their territory."

_You hope we didn't meet a what? _Syuveil tried to put on a reassuring smile, as if he was grateful for Damia's concern. "Don't worry, we didn't see one."

Far from being gratified, Damia's mouth turned downward into a distrusting frown, still glaring at him. Her stare was making Syuveil uneasy. Thankfully, she shifted her gaze downward to her food after giving him a bit more of the icy stare, but then suddenly her eyes shot back upward, this time staring at his chest, apparently just noticing something.

"Syuveil," she asked softly, "why is there blood on the front of your breastplate?"

Cursing inwardly, Syuveil looked down. Sure enough, there were small smears of blood on his leather armor, blood from the guards he'd killed to escape. They were hard to see due to the brown color of the leather, but they were there. He looked up at her, his mouth opening to offer some sort of explanation, but the words never had a chance to come out. In a blur of motion, Damia rose from her chair, dashed over to the shelf in the corner, grabbed her hammer, and held it ready in her hands. Syuveil and Kanzas were also on their feet, eyeing her warily.

"Who the hell are you two?" she hissed. "You're obviously not travelers. What are you then? Mercenaries? Assassins? Criminals?" If she'd been glaring before, it was nothing to what she was doing now. Her eyes shot daggers at the pair of them, glinting with a fierce light sharper than steel.

Syuveil put his hands up in a placating manner, trying to calm her down. "Easy, now," he said soothingly. "We're not any of those things. Just put the hammer down."

"Then why is there blood on your armor?" she snapped angrily, almost shrieking. "I thought I saw some on your glaive, too, when that mob was in front of us, when you pulled it out to threaten them. I couldn't tell in the sunlight so I just didn't say anything." She tightened her grip on the hammer.

With a jolt, Syuveil realized the girl was right. There _was _still some of the guards' blood on the glaive. He'd done his best to wipe it off when he and Kanzas were arguing, before the wolf attacked, but apparently he'd missed a few spots. He racked his brains, frantically searching for the best course of action. The way Damia was holding that hammer, she didn't look fit to believe any story he told. Lies would only anger her further. He decided on the truth.

"We're escaped slaves," he told Damia.

That made her pause. "What?"

Syuveil opened his mouth to elaborate, but was cut off by Kanzas roughly grabbing his arm. His iron fingers tightened, making Syuveil wince.

"Have you lost your mind, fool?" Kanzas snapped at him, the words coming out in a growl from between clenched teeth. "Shut up! What's wrong with you?"

"Calm down, Kanzas," Syuveil replied, trying to ignore the pain that lanced up his arm as Kanzas gripped it even tighter. "She won't believe anything we tell her. This is the better way."

"How in Endiness is this the better way?" Kanzas asked incredulously.

"Maybe she can help."

"Oh, right! Sure! Just trust any half-breed stranger with the fact that we ran away from the Arena, because _maybe they'll help_!" His voice rose sharply in anger, his teeth baring. "Yeah, and maybe she'll sell us out to Malavis, too! Did you ever think of that?" Kanzas spat on the ground in rage.

"Kanzas," Syuveil said in a soothing voice. "She won't sell us out, I just know she won't." His friend was still looking angry. "Just trust me, Kanzas," Syuveil said. "Trust me, and let go of my arm."

Kanzas shot Syuveil a filthy look, but released Syuveil's arm all the same. "And you thought my plan to escape was crazy," he muttered mutinously. "Just remember what'll happen to us if we get caught and sent back. We'll be hanging in cages before the sun sets."

"I know," Syuveil replied. He turned to Damia, who had watched the entire exchange with wide eyes. She still hadn't lowered her hammer, though her gaze wasn't as fierce. Syuveil opened his mouth and began.

"Kanzas and I used to be slaves in the Imperial Arena at Kadessa. I was there for two years. Kanzas…" He stopped, realizing that he had no idea how long his friend had been there. He glanced over at the dour warrior. "How long were you there?"

Kanzas scowled, then, spitting the answer out as if left a bad taste in his mouth, said, "Five years."

Syuveil turned back to Damia, who was staring at him, her eyes growing even wider. "The Imperial Arena?" she asked, a look of terrified amazement on her face. Doubtless she'd heard stories of the place.

Syuveil nodded at her. "Yes. The Imperial Arena." As he spoke, he noticed with some satisfaction that her hammer lowered a fraction of an inch. He continued on. "We were to be sold to a Wingly noble, but we killed the guards at the teleporter and escaped." Her eyes widened even more. "The teleporter sent us to the forest, where we ran into you. That's it. We're just men who wanted to be free again."

Damia studied them for a moment, then slowly let her hammer fall to her side. "I believe you," she said softly.

"And you're not going to turn us in?" Syuveil asked.

She shook her head. "No."

Syuveil gave a small sigh of relief. He looked over at Kanzas, grinning.

"See? I told you." Kanzas made no reply except to throw him another dirty look.

"But you can't stay here," Damia said suddenly. "You have to leave. Now."

"Why?" Kanzas said aggressively.

"If you really are escaped slaves," Damia answered, "the Winglies will come searching for you. This'll be one of the first places they'll look. They'll take you back to the Arena in chains, and annihilate the entire village." She looked scared, even more so than when the mob had confronted them. "They won't care that no one knew you were runaways. They'll still think we helped you." Her jaw was set, the lines of her face hard as stone. "I won't let that happen."

"You seem to be rather keen to save the lives of those that hate you," Kanzas remarked. "I find that strange."

Damia glared at him. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. Everyone, no matter how misguided their views might be, deserves a chance to live. I won't let them die. You have to leave."

Kanzas looked as though he was about to reply with some cutting remark, but suddenly, a large chunk of rock crashed through the window, sending pieces of shattered glass everywhere. Syuveil cursed angrily as one of the shards cut a deep gash in his cheek, spattering more blood on his armor. He ran to the broken window and another curse, this one more graphic, escaped his lips as he saw what was coming towards them on the beach.

The mob was back, and they were angrier than before, if that was even possible. They carried burning torches that stood out sharply against the dusk sky, illuminating hard, unforgiving faces. By the light of the fires, Syuveil could see that they all carried weapons. Some were waving pitchforks and scythes, others were brandishing swords and maces. One even had a morningstar, the wicked-looking spiked ball whirling through the air as the man holding it swung it round and round. Drunken, raucous shouting filled the air as the mob drew closer and closer.

Kanzas let out a violent laugh as he came to stand beside Syuveil at the window. "These are the people you want to save, eh?" He sneered at Damia. "I don't think they're here to thank you, half-breed."

Much as he hated to admit it, Syuveil agreed with Kanzas. "He's right," Syuveil told Damia. "They're here to kill us. We have to fight." If the situation hadn't been so dire, he would have laughed at the irony of it all. Here he was, the man who hadn't even stood up to the bullies that ruthlessly tortured him during childhood, who hated the fighting he'd done in the Arena with a passion, was encouraging violence to a fifteen year-old girl. The world had gone insane.

Damia bit her lip, hesitating. Kanzas grabbed her roughly and shook her.

"We don't have time for this, girl!" he yelled. "They've got us surrounded, we can't escape! Come on!"

Damia looked unperturbed by Kanzas' behavior. "Let me talk to them first," she said.

Kanzas' jaw dropped in amazement, and Damia took the opportunity to shrug free of his grip. Picking up her hammer, she calmly walked towards the door. She was almost there when something made her stop. Turning back, she went to the shelf and grabbed the teal-blue stone that her mother had left her. Again, as before, it began to glow as she picked it up. She held it for a moment, her eyes closed, a small smile playing on her lips. Then, her eyes snapped open, and she walked out the door, Syuveil and Kanzas staring after her.

They remained where they were for about half a second longer, then Syuveil jerked himself out of the trancelike state he'd been in. He grabbed his glaive and raced out the door after her, Kanzas, swearing angrily, following suit. They stood on either side of Damia like bodyguards as she addressed the crowd.

"People of Furni!" she called out. "Please go home! Leave me in peace!"

"Fuck you!" someone in the mob screamed.

"Kill the freak!" another man yelled, and his companions howled their assent.

"Stone her to death!"

"Burn her house down!"

Tears were rolling down Damia's cheeks. "What did I ever do to you?" she cried. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

But the mob didn't even hear her. They were too far gone, drunk on alcohol and bloodlust. Syuveil glimpsed movement within their ranks, and suddenly one of the torches came flying through the air, heading straight for Damia. Syuveil stepped in front of her and swung his glaive, cleaving the torch in two, the pieces falling harmlessly to the ground. The mob roared in fury.

"Kill them all!" A collective cry of hatred rose up from the throng of villagers as they charged at the three, steadily gaining ground. Syuveil could see that they were vastly outnumbered. He gripped the handle of his weapon tightly, sweat pouring down his head, mixing in with the blood running down his cheek.

"When I pictured my own death," Syuveil heard Kanzas say, "this wasn't how I visualized it." He sighed. "I didn't want to die like this." He sounded almost sad. The mob was almost upon them, screaming with rage, waving their weapons high in the air.

"Soa save us all," Syuveil whispered softly.

Less than a second after the words had left Syuveil's mouth, a beam of light lanced downward from the sky, striking the ground and creating a small explosion that threw up sand five feet high. The mob stopped in their tracks, their howls of hatred changing quickly to screams of fear as their heads rose up to look at the sky.

Something was descending towards them, enshrouded in a ball of light that was brighter than the shine of all the torches that the mob carried. It landed in between the mob and the three warriors, and Syuveil could feel a soft breeze from what could only be beating wings. The thing extended its arm and pointed at the villagers, who shrank back in horror at the sight before them.

"Begone!" the thing said in a loud, commanding voice. "Leave this place now!"

The mob didn't need to be told twice. As one, they all changed direction and ran back to the village as fast as their legs would carry them, screaming in terror. Syuveil was awestruck. _It's an angel, _he thought for one wild moment. _Soa heard my prayer and sent an angel to help us. _But as the thing turned towards them, the light surrounding its body vanished, and Syuveil could see that it was not an angel after all, but something much more amazing.

Their rescuer was a woman with long red hair, clad in silver armor that covered her upper torso but left her midriff bare. Red gems the same color as her hair were embedded in the tiara she wore, as well as in her knee high silver boots and her breastplate. Silver gauntlets and gloves were on her forearms and hands, and the shoulder protectors she wore were covered in red enamel. A red skirt was worn under silver armor that protected her lower body, but her thighs were left bare. An enormous, silver bow was in her left hand. But the most amazing things were the wings. Wings of what looked like pure energy grew out of the back of her armor and stretched out behind her. She flexed them once, smiling at the three.

Syuveil stood there, utterly dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open like an idiot. All he could think was, _No…no, it can't be. It's impossible. They can't be real, they just can't be._ But what he saw was at odds with what he thought; even though his mind was disbelieving, his eyes saw the truth clearly. His legs felt weak, he was ready to fall to his knees. Finally, he found the strength to speak.

"A Dragoon…" was all he managed to get out.

The woman laughed and nodded. "Are you three alright?" she asked. They nodded shakily.

"Good," she said. "I got here just in time."

"Time for what, exactly?" They all turned to look at Kanzas. "Why did you help us?"

Syuveil glared at him. Why did he have to be so rude to people they'd just met? Luckily, their savior didn't seem offended.

"You ask a good question," she said. In answer, she pointed to Damia, who stepped back, looking shocked.

"_Me?_" she asked. "What am I to you?"

"A Dragoon," the woman said. "Just like me."

Damia shook her head, the astonishment Syuveil felt mirrored on her face. "Impossible," the half-breed said, her voice trembling. "That's impossible."

"Oh?" the woman said, looking amused. "Take out your Spirit, then, and I'll show you."

"My what?"

"The stone in your pocket. It's your Dragoon Spirit. Take it out."

Staring at the woman as though unable to believe that she was there, Damia fished the stone out of her pocket. For the third time, it started to glow at her touch. The woman raised her arm again, as she'd done with the mob, and pointed at Damia.

"Arise, Dragoon Spirit of the Blue Sea Dragon!"

As the woman spoke, Damia was enveloped in a blinding, teal-blue light, a light that seemed to come from the stone in her hand. Syuveil stepped back, amazed. Even Kanzas looked awed. The girl rose a few feet in the air, still shrouded in the light. She seemed to be changing somehow. Then suddenly, the light vanished to reveal Damia floating above the ground, still shining softly in a halo of the same teal light.

Where before Damia had worn a tight-fitting tunic and leggings, she was now encased in armor similar to Shirley's. A blue cuirass covered her torso all the way up to her breasts, leaving her collarbone and shoulders uncovered. She wore blue gauntlets and gloves, like Shirley's silver ones, as well as a tiara, which was slightly different from Shirley's. Blue armor protected her thighs, and she wore short, high-heeled boots. Damia's armor was encrusted with gems as well, glittering in the teal light that continued to emanate from her. And, of course, there were the distinctive Dragoon wings, sprouting from her back. Even her hammer had changed; it was now enormous and stone-gray. Syuveil and Kanzas just stared at her, unable to believe their eyes.

Damia lowered slowly to the ground, examining her new armor with wide, scared eyes. Then suddenly, there was another flash of light, and Damia's armor vanished. She collapsed to the ground, sweating and breathing hard. Syuveil ran to her, helping her to her feet. She leaned against him, utterly exhausted.

The woman smiled again. "Now do you believe?" Gasping for breath, Damia nodded.

"Excellent," the woman said. "Now we must leave. We have to get to Vellweb." She motioned for Damia to follow her.

"Vellweb? You mean it actually exists?" Syuveil blurted out.

The woman laughed. "Of course it exists. Haven't you heard the stories?"

"I heard the stories," Syuveil said, "I just…"

"You didn't believe them," the woman finished for him. Syuveil nodded. "Well, it does exist, and that's where we have to go. Goodbye." She scooped Damia up in her arms and prepared to take off.

"Wait!" Syuveil yelled. "What about us?"

The woman regarded him for a minute, surveying him with a piercing gaze that seemed to strip away his flesh and lay bare his soul. After a moment of silence, the woman spoke.

"I was only commanded to bring the girl, but there is something about you that draws me. Your friend as well," she said, motioning to Kanzas. "I can't explain it. Perhaps Emperor Diaz will know what to make of it." She set Damia down. "Very well. You may come."

Syuveil grinned. "Perfect," he said. "What about you, Kanzas? Are you coming?"

The grim warrior thought for a moment. "Sure," he said, shrugging, "why the hell not?"

"That's settled then," said Syuveil, turning to the woman, who nodded.

Since we're not flying, then," she said, "there's no need for this." She closed her eyes, and in a flash of silver light, her armor disappeared. She was now clothed in a white tunic, leather leggings, and travel boots. A quiver of arrows was slung across her back, and her bow, now changed from its enhanced form, was a normal, wooden shortbow. "My name is Shirley," the woman said.

"I'm Syuveil, and this is Kanzas."

"I'm Damia," the half-breed girl piped up, speaking for the first time since her transformation.

"I'm glad to meet you all. Now come, we must go. It's a long journey from here to Vellweb on foot, and we cannot waste time." She turned to the west. "It's this way. Grab your things from the house and let's get moving."

The three scurried to the house, Syuveil assisting Damia, who was still worn out from her ordeal. They grabbed their packs, weapons, and the like, and then raced out to Shirley. "We'll skirt the village," she told them, "so we won't have to deal with that mob again." She began to walk west, Kanzas following her. Syuveil made to follow Kanzas, but then noticed that Damia had hung back. She was looking back at her shack, a wistful look on her face.

"Damia," Syuveil called.

She jerked, as if waking from a dream, then turned and began to follow Shirley and Kanzas with Syuveil.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it

Author's note: I'm going to restate the caveat at the beginning of the story. This is a particularly gory chapter. If you have a weak constitution, skip the part at the end. You have been warned.

The Kashua Glacier loomed up on the horizon, its vivid blue-white color standing out against the dark night sky, making it look like a giant rip across the heavens. Stars twinkled overhead, glittering like small chunks of diamond, and the moon shone brightly in the sky, bathing the snow-covered land in a soft, pearl-white glow. It was a pretty sight, but Syuveil noticed none of it. His mind was entertaining only one thought: it was bloody cold out here.

Shivering, Syuveil wrapped the one thin blanket he had tightly around him, trying to trap as much heat as possible, and scooted as close to the campfire as he could without getting burned. It was nowhere near enough. The freezing weather invaded every inch of Syuveil's body, making him feel as though his very bones were coated in ice. His breath billowed out in front of him in a misty cloud whenever he breathed, and he had to rub his hands together constantly to keep feeling in them. Every so often, the wind would pick up, wind made of frozen steel knives that hacked and slashed at Syuveil as they blew by, a frigid typhoon that made Syuveil so cold it actually hurt. There was nothing he could do, however, but grit his teeth against the pain, clench his fists tighter around the handle of his glaive, and wait for his watch to be over.

The four of them had been traveling for a week now. Syuveil himself, Damia, Kanzas, and this new arrival, Shirley, had been traversing across this wretched patch of ice for seven days. Seven. Freezing. Days. It had started to snow the first day of their journey, and hadn't stopped since. One of Syuveil's duties on watch was, in addition to looking out for wild animals and Winglies, making sure that his companions weren't buried in snow as they slept. And the way things were right now, the chances of that happening were very good. Snow was coming down in torrents at the moment, making the already respectable amount on the ground rise steadily higher. _If we wait here much longer, it'll get so thick that we won't be able to go on, _he thought to himself worriedly. _We'll be trapped here._

Sighing, Syuveil reached up and scratched irritably at an unshaven cheek. He'd survived the destruction of his village, defeated every foe the Arena set him against, and now it looked like he was about to be bested by the _weather._ It irked him to no end.

Syuveil wondered briefly if any of the others felt the same, then decided not. They had their own issues to deal with. Especially Damia. Syuveil glanced at her, sleeping peacefully, and a short smile came to his lips. At least her slumber was untroubled. Ever since that fateful night, when Shirley had called upon the strange power of Damia's Dragoon Spirit, transforming her into one of the fabled warriors of legend, the girl had changed. No longer was she bright and cheerful, now she walked as if some unseen burden lay on her shoulders, aging her beyond her years. She rarely, if ever, smiled anymore, instead staring off into space, her eyes clouded with dark thoughts. She looked disturbed, but when asked about it, she would shake her head and mutter a faint, "I'm fine." Syuveil could only assume that somehow her transformation had affected her, though he wasn't sure why superhuman power would make her unhappy.

He thought Shirley might have an answer, but if she did, she wasn't telling. Their new companion was an enigma. They'd been traveling together for a week, and yet she had told them almost nothing about herself. All they knew was her name, the fact that she was a Dragoon, and that she was taking them to Vellweb. The woman had been nearly as tight-lipped as Damia throughout their journey, pushing them onward through the cold relentlessly. More than once, Syuveil had tried to question her, about the Dragoons, about Vellweb, about Emperor Diaz, but he was always rebuffed. She gently informed him that they didn't have time for idle chatter, that they had to keep moving. She did seem genuinely sorry for keeping them in the dark, but Syuveil was still slightly irritated. He did think that she might have at least told Damia, even if she didn't want to tell him. In his opinion, it was more than a little unfair to fly into a fifteen-year-old's life, tell her she was now an all-powerful Dragoon warrior, then drag her across a frozen wilderness towards some mythical city without offering a word of explanation. Small wonder Damia looked distressed.

It was all becoming a bit much for Syuveil as well. He was still reeling from the revelation that his books had told the truth, that Dragoons did, in fact, exist. And now he was on his way to Vellweb, the so-called "safe city", where humans lived in peace, and where their leader, Emperor Diaz, was building an army to throw off the oppression of slavery and crush the Winglies into dust. As he pondered this, a warm glow rose up inside him. He doubted he'd be doing much fighting; he'd killed more men than he cared to remember, and had no wish to add to the list. But he could finally have a life, the life that was taken from him when his village burned to the ground. He could get a house, and fill it with as many books as he could find. His very own library, where he could read as long as he wanted. And he could write, too. If the rebellion was successful, they'd need someone to mark it down as history. _I could write the first ever history of the overthrow of the Winglies...Scholars might read my book for years to come…_He grinned widely to himself at the thought, and actually had to suppress a giggle. And maybe, when it was all over…he could find a wife, maybe settle down, have children….The warm glow intensified, and Syuveil hugged his knees closer to his chest, his smile growing even broader.

Snow crunched behind him.

The warm glow vanished in an instant, replaced by a jolt of shock that flashed through his body. Startled, he leapt to his feet and whirled around, bringing his glaive up and leveling the curved blade at the intruder. By the light of the moon, Syuveil could see a muscular figure standing in front of him. Snow covered the man's hair and beard, making him look like an old man, but the familiar scowl was still there. Relieved, Syuveil lowered the point of his weapon.

"Kanzas. You scared me."

"You scare easily," was the harsh, grating response.

Syuveil chose not to respond to that. "Did you come to take watch?"

Kanzas sneered. "No, I came to see if the Winter Fairy brought my presents yet," he replied sarcastically. "Of course I came to take watch, you nitwit. Get over there and go to sleep."

Syuveil nodded and walked away, leaving Kanzas to take his place in the snow. He had long come to accept his companion's belligerent remarks as a part of life, and had ceased to take offense. It was simply Kanzas' way of communicating. It still irritated him when he was rude to people they'd just met five minutes ago, however.

He cleared away as much snow off the ground as he could with his boot, lay down, and spread his blanket over himself. Instead of closing his eyes and going to sleep, however, he looked over at Kanzas. The grim, dour warrior was the only friend he'd had in a long time, violent and angry as he was. There was still a barrier between them, though, a high wall of Kanzas' creation. He kept his heart locked up tightly, letting no one inside. He and Syuveil would never be very close, it seemed. He lashed out at anyone and everyone. _What happened to make him so consumed with fury?_ Syuveil wondered, not for the first time. He could not believe that anyone could be born that way; something _must _have happened to him, something that filled him with a burning hatred for the world around him, as well as a nearly insatiable passion for killing. Whatever it was, Syuveil might never understand it.

It was only after mulling this question over in his head for a few minutes that Syuveil realized just how tired he was. He rolled over and shut his eyes, the comforting blackness of sleep tugging at the edges of his mind. _I hope Kanzas doesn't let us get buried alive,_ Syuveil thought as he drifted away. _It would be just like him to let us die and continue on alone._

Yet when he was woken the next morning by the toe of Kanzas' boot, there was only a thin dusting of snow on him, for which he was grateful. Shirley and Damia were already up, Damia still scampering around gathering her things. Syuveil set about doing the same, hoisting his glaive and whatever food and supplies he had left onto his back. Soon enough, they were all ready to go.

"We've got to be on the other side of the Kashua Glacier by the end of the day," Shirley told them. "It's too dangerous to travel through at night, and we can't make camp there."

"Says you," Kanzas remarked. "Dragoons aren't the only ones who can fight, you know. We don't need you looking out for us." Shirley simply smiled at him.

"I don't doubt that you and your friend can handle yourselves, Kanzas," she told him, "but the monsters in that glacier are powerful beyond measure. The Windigo that live there have been known to kill Gigantos."

Kanzas gave a dark smile. "Syuveil's been known to do the same thing."

Shirley's gaze shifted over to Syuveil, who felt the curious sensation of being scrutinized under a looking glass. The woman's eyes seemed to peel back the layers of his being and examine the very essence of his heart. It would have been disconcerting, but the kindness in those eyes set his mind at ease. Shirley seemed the type of person that children would run to after a nightmare, a warm, comforting soul.

"You've slain a Giganto?" Shirley asked. "That's impressive. There's not many who can boast of that."

"It's not something I plan on boasting about. Ever." A chill went up Syuveil's spine as he remembered how the blood had spurted out of the ghastly wound he'd made in Magnar's throat, how the huge warrior's death spasms had come to a sudden, terrible stop as he'd finally died. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

"Is that true, Syuveil?" The question had come from Damia. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open. Syuveil nodded. "Wow," she said softly, awestruck. For a moment, she was her old self again, and then the childlike wonderment passed, and the burden fell back onto her shoulders. Syuveil felt a pang of pity.

"Notable a feat as that may be," Shirley said, "we still have to make it through the glacier by sunset. Come. We have very little time." She set off walking in the direction of the glacier. Syuveil and the others fell into step behind her, Kanzas muttering mutinously under his breath.

They trudged on for most of the morning, not speaking, the Kashua Glacier growing steadily larger as they pressed onward. It was midday when they finally reached it. Syuveil's feet were beginning to grow numb, and he looked upon the towering mass of ice with relief.

"We're halfway to Vellweb now," Shirley told them. Once we're through, we'll be in Gloriano. It'll take us about five more days to reach the city, but the worst'll be behind us."

"I still say there's nothing in that place that Syuveil and I can't handle," Kanzas remarked. "We've both been through some pretty tight spots in the Arena, and we're both still alive. We can deal with whatever's in there with no trouble."

"Have you ever been through here, Kanzas?" Shirley asked him. Kanzas scowled at her. "I thought not. I _have_ been through here, though. You'll have to trust me, my friend."

"I'm not your friend, woman," Kanzas snarled. "Remember that."

"All I ask is that you follow me," she replied, showing no sign of anger at Kanzas' words. "Now let's go. We have no time to argue."

Kanzas gave Shirley a venomous look, but followed her as she walked up the path that led into the glacier all the same. Syuveil kept his distance a few paces behind him, having no wish to talk to an angrier than usual Kanzas. Surprisingly, however, Kanzas looked back, saw Syuveil behind him, and slowed his pace down until he was walking at Syuveil's side.

"That woman's a bloody coward," he hissed in Syuveil's ear. "Afraid of a few little monsters. And she's supposed to be one of the warriors who's gonna save the human race?" He let out a scornful laugh. "Bullshit. If this is how the Dragoons face danger, we're all screwed."

"She does have a good point, though," Syuveil told him. "Neither of us have been here before. We don't know what's out there. It's smarter to be cautious than to go in having no idea what we're about to face."

Kanzas gave him a contemptuous look. "You're almost as bad as she is. You survived for two years in the Arena. You're a damn good fighter. What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid, I just think that she knows more about this place than we do, so we should take her advice and move through here quickly," Syuveil said. "Although I will admit, I don't like the sound of this Windigo creature she mentioned."

"It can't be any worse than what we had to fight in Kadessa," Kanzas replied, waving a dismissive hand.

"You're wrong," came a small voice from behind them. They both turned to see Damia, shuffling along at their back. "The Windigo is one of the most dangerous monsters in Endiness. It's at least twelve feet tall, with claws made of solid ice. It won't hesitate to kill anything it sees." She looked frightened, but went on all the same. "Or, if you're really unlucky, it won't kill you. Sometimes it captures its victims, and carries them back to its lair. There it plays with them, often for days." Her lower lip began to tremble; she looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Her shoulders gave a little shudder, but she took a deep breath and composed herself.

"Years ago, when I was little, I was exploring and found a cave, a cave deep underground, covered in ice." Her shudders became more pronounced now. "Cold enough for a Windigo to live there. I was skipping around on a frozen river when the ground shook so bad that I fell over." Her hands were shaking now. "I looked around, and there it was, eyes gleaming, towering to the ceiling, coming towards me. I was so scared. I couldn't move. I was sure it was going to kill me.

"Then, suddenly, my mother appeared. She'd found out where I was, and knew that I was in danger somehow. She threw chunks of ice at it, and yelled at me to run while she distracted it. I made it out. She didn't." Tears were trickling down her face now. "We could hear her screams all the way in the village. I begged and pleaded for someone to go get her, but nobody would. They were all too afraid, and none of them wanted to risk it for a mermaid. Then one day, the screaming stopped. I never saw her again."

A ringing silence followed Damia's tale. Syuveil just stood there, openmouthed, horror flooding through his body at what he'd just heard. Even Kanzas was at a loss for words. "I try not to think about it," she told them, wiping her eyes. "I was eight, and I was on my own after that, so I couldn't dwell on it. I had to push it aside, move on and survive. But sometimes, I can still hear her, still feel the fear of that day. Like now." She looked at their icy surroundings, and gave a shiver that Syuveil didn't think had anything to do with the cold. "That's why I agree with Shirley. We need to make it through here as fast as possible."

"I'm glad someone thinks the same way I do."

They all turned. Shirley was standing a few feet away. "Are you alright, Damia?" she asked kindly. "You look like you've been crying." There was a concerned, motherly look on her face.

"No, I'm fine," Damia replied. "Sorry for the holdup. Let's get moving." Shirley nodded, turned and walked, Damia following a few steps away. Syuveil glanced over at Kanzas, who, for the first time in Syuveil's memory, looked shaken.

"You still think the Windigo can't be worse than the Arena?" Syuveil asked him. For a moment, the vicious warrior appeared as if he didn't know what to say.

"No," he finally mumbled. He turned and followed Shirley and Damia, Syuveil close behind him.

They made the rest of the trip in complete silence. An hour…two hours…three hours…they seemed to walk forever. Syuveil used the time to dwell miserably on Damia's horrific story. He thought he'd experienced the worst when he'd seen his little sister's brains all over the ground, when he'd left countless shattered bodies on the bricks of the Arena, but now that he'd heard how Damia's mother had died, he felt that the hardships he'd been through didn't even compare. At least his sister had died quickly, at least those men he'd killed hadn't suffered on in agony. _Death would be better…even if there is nothing out there…to live on in torture like that…oblivion would be preferable._ He hoped there was something out there, though. He hoped that Damia's mother had been rewarded somewhere for the terrible sacrifice she'd made for her daughter, or that maybe he might get to see his sister again, or maybe apologize to all the foes he'd slain. He hoped that all those who'd died under the harsh lash of the Winglies could find some kind of peace from their pain. _Surely Soa wouldn't be so cruel. Surely he'd make an afterlife for us, a place where we can live in happiness and prosperity._

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a truly disgusting stench, a smell that flooded his nostrils and made his eyes water. He knew the odor; he'd smelled it every day for two years when they'd dumped the bodies of the slain in the mass graves outside the Arena. It was the smell of rotting flesh.

Not ten feet away, the carcass of what looked like a mammoth lay on the ground. Its stomach had been ripped open by some huge claw, its intestines spilling out all across the icy ground, staining the snow a dark red. Kanzas swore softly under his breath, and Damia went pale. Syuveil's guts were heaving. _What on earth could do this? _he wondered to himself. Then he remembered Damia's words from before, and suddenly knew the answer.

"Look," Kanzas called. "There's more."

Syuveil looked, and saw that it was true. Hundreds of bodies were stashed in a dark corner of the area they were in, piled ten feet high, all in various stages of decay. Some looked as though they'd been there for a long time, but others were still horribly fresh. And what was worse, they weren't all animals. A few looked…human.

Suddenly Shirley gave a gasp. "Oh, no…oh, no. _Soa have mercy_." She rushed over to the pile of bodies, the others hot on her heels. The Dragoon knelt to the ground next to something, and as Syuveil drew close, he saw with terrifying clarity what it was.

A young boy lay on the ice, no older than nine or ten. His battered, broken body was riddled with ice shards, piercing his legs, chest, and even his throat. A deep gash cut through his upper torso, laying bare the bones in his ribs. Syuveil's hands began to quiver so badly he couldn't hold his glaive straight. Behind him, Damia uttered a soft prayer. Kanzas leaned in closer to the body and sniffed it, a disgusted look on his face.

"This kill's recent. The kid can't have been dead for more than a day. He doesn't even smell." He turned toward the others. "We should get moving. Whatever did this to him is probably still around. We don't want to be here when it finds us."

Suddenly the boy on the ground began to stir. His eyelids fluttered open, and his mouth moved faintly, struggling for the power to speak. _Soa save us, he's still alive, _Syuveil thought, feeling equal parts horror and relief.

"Shhh…quiet now," Shirley told him softly. "Don't try to talk. You're going to be fine. We're going to get you out of here."

The boy didn't seem to hear her. His eyes moved in and out of focus, and blood began to trickle from the edges of his mouth. Somehow, he found the strength to utter a few bits of broken speech.

"Wi…Win…di…go…run...runnn…." Then he coughed, and the blood streamed out of his mouth. His head lolled to one side, and the light vanished from his eyes.

A tear trickled down Shirley's cheek. She reached over and shut his eyes. Syuveil staggered to his feet, his stomach roiling. He stumbled away from the dead body of the boy and vomited all over the ground. He could hear Damia sobbing somewhere nearby.

"We need to get out of here," Shirley said, shakily getting up. "Kanzas is right, the monster is probably still close by. We need to leave."

"For once, Shirley and I agree on something," Kanzas said. "Let's take the kid's last bit of advice and run." Syuveil wiped his mouth and nodded.

The ground shook under their feet.

Chills colder than the walls of the glacier shot down Syuveil's spine as tremors raced through the floor. Small chunks of ice cascaded downward, broken free of the glacier by the shaking. Syuveil spun around, looking for the quickest way out, but what he saw instead almost stopped his heart. A pair of blood-red eyes was shining out of the darkness. Whatever those eyes belonged to was huge, and moving steadily closer to them.

Syuveil heard a small, constricted scream of fear and turned. Damia's tear-streaked face was twisted up into an expression of pure terror. Her mouth moved soundlessly, like the boy's had before he died. Syuveil couldn't read lips, but he didn't need to. He could tell the word she was forming.

"Windigo."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Chunks of ice fell from the walls like glittering, rock-hard drops of rain as the Windigo advanced on them, the ground shaking worse and worse with every step it took. The red eyes gleaming out of the darkness grew larger as it moved nearer, shining with a terrifying glow, a light that spoke of blood and death, of the terrible carnage that the beast had inflicted upon its countless wretched victims. Syuveil looked around at the corpses stacked high in the corner of the Windigo's lair, his eyes resting briefly on the dead body of the young boy. They were about to be the newest addition to those corpses very soon.

Syuveil's lower lip trembled as the monster advanced even closer. He found himself remembering Damia's story of her mother's horrible death, the half-breed's description of the way she'd screamed flashing through his mind. He felt ill again, and had to force himself not to throw up for a second time. His palms were drenched in sweat, and his glaive kept slipping out of his hands. He felt certain, more so than he'd ever felt in the Arena, that he was going to die.

"Don't be afraid!" he heard Shirley yell, her voice ringing loud and clear above the quaking of the ground. "We can fight this creature! Come on!" Shirley closed her eyes, and in a flash of white light, was enshrouded in her Dragoon armor. The white armor gave off a warm, reassuring glow that seemed to beat back the red gleam of the Windigo's eyes, giving Syuveil new heart. _Maybe we can beat this thing._

Shirley turned to look at Damia. Fresh tears were rolling down the half-breed girl's cheeks, and she was trembling from head to toe. She seemed to have lost the power of speech; her mouth was open, twisted into a terrible, silent scream.

"Damia! Transform! You have the power now!"

The petrified girl gazed helplessly over at Shirley, shaking madly. With a colossal effort, it seemed, she managed to get out one word.

"How?"

"Focus! Concentrate on the spirit of the dragon within you! Concentrate!"

Sniffling, Damia nodded, closing her eyes and screwing up her face, as if she was thinking hard about something. A blue light began to glow around her, but then vanished as her eyes snapped open at a particularly loud crash. Syuveil followed her gaze, and the urge to retch rose up in him once again.

The Windigo had come into full view. Damia had been wrong when she'd said they'd stood twelve feet tall; this one towered at least fifteen. All ten of its icy claws ended in razor sharp-points, and the only things that looked more dangerous were its fangs. Too many teeth to count gleamed in the monster's mouth, just below those terrible red eyes. Its entire body was the same icy blue as its claws, making Syuveil wonder if the whole creature was covered in ice. A long tail extended behind it, growing out of the base of its spine. But what really caught Syuveil's eye was the heart that beat rhythmically in its chest, uncovered by anything, open to the elements. What looked like its ribcage gaped open wide, and seemed to be moving of its own accord, each rib flailing about separately, independent of the others. Syvueil wasn't sure how the creature could do that, or why it would need to, but he had a terrible feeling that it could be nothing good.

"Damia!" Shirley cried. "Damia, hurry!"

Damia didn't even seem to register that Shirley was speaking. She gazed up at the horrific monster standing before them, her mouth once more open in the silent scream. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted, crumpling with a soft thud to the icy ground.

Syuveil began to run, racing over to her, but before he'd made it halfway, a voice stopped him in his tracks. "Leave her, Syuveil!" Kanzas roared. "We don't have time to coddle her! We need to fight!"

_He's right,_ Syuveil realized. With one last look over at the unconscious Damia, he ran back over and raised his glaive, preparing for battle.

Shirley made the first move. Notching a glowing arrow into her bow, she drew back and let fly. The arrow cut through the air, leaving a shining trail behind it as it headed straight for the Windigo's exposed heart. Hope rose within Syuveil, then plummeted downwards as one of the monster's arms flashed out and knocked the arrow out of the air. The shaft shattered into pieces, the still-glowing shards falling to the ground like stardust.

The Windigo threw its head back and let out an earsplitting roar, making its whole lair shake and tremble. Syuveil's guts turned to sludge, and his knees began to quiver. Kanzas had clapped his hands over his ears, his face screwed up against the noise.

Then suddenly the terrible clamor stopped, and the Windigo began to race toward them, its feet tearing large chunks out of the ice as it stomped ahead. Kanzas jerked his hands away from his ears and balled them into fists. Gnashing his teeth, he ran to meet the creature, screaming out a wordless battle cry, as if answering the call of the enemy. The two barreled towards each other, the Windigo raising up one arm, ready to sweep it down and tear Kanzas apart. Syuveil and Shirley stood rooted to the spot, could do nothing but watch as Kanzas and the monster drew closer.

Then suddenly, the Windigo's arm plunged downward, icy claws pointed at Kanzas. They sailed within an inch of him as he backflipped to avoid them. He landed deftly on his feet, then jumped, flying upwards, almost impossibly high, and landed a punch right in the middle of the Windigo's heart. The thing reeled backwards, shrieking in pain. Kanzas fell back to the ground, once again landing lightly on his feet.

The Windigo's eyes flashed a deep, angry red. It swiped at Kanzas again, and again he avoided it. Before he could attack, however, the other arm came flashing down, appearing as a blue-white blur. Kanzas evaded this one as well, but barely.

"Shirley!" Syuveil yelled. "We can't just stand here! We have to help him!" She nodded and loaded another arrow into her bow as Syuveil sprinted towards where his friend was fighting the Windigo. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the arrow flash past, headed towards the monster. It struck it in the side of the leg, making it stumble and fall to one knee. Kanzas made another enormous leap, and hit the Windigo in the jaw with a savage uppercut.

Bits of ice flew from the creature's head, and Syuveil's heart gave a great leap. Shirley loosed two more arrows, and both connected with the creature's face. It teetered back and forth, and for one wild moment, Syuveil thought they had defeated it.

That thought was quickly banished as the Windigo righted itself. Standing upright once again, it gave another mighty swipe of its claw. This time, Kanzas was not quick enough, and Syuveil saw blood fly as the razor-sharp points tore through his skin. Syuveil quickened his pace, running as he had never run before to assist his companion. But the claws curled into a fist, and with a swing of its massive arm, dealt Kanzas a vicious backhand blow that hit him square in the chest, sending him flying back almost twenty feet. He crashed into a nearby wall, making cracks in the ice as he connected, and collapsed in a heap on the ground. He struggled to rise, then fell back down and didn't get up.

"Kanzas!" Syuveil cried, but just then his thoughts were diverted by the enormous shadow that loomed over him. The Windigo's eyes were gleaming again, but this time the light seemed…happy. It was enjoying this. Its arm shot downwards again, and Syuveil leaped to avoid it. He felt a strong wind as the massive claws blew by him. He ducked a swipe from the other arm, and lashed out with his glaive as it passed. There was a loud _clang_, and a tremor went up Syuveil's arm as the blade of the glaive glanced off the icy forearm of the beast. There was a large gash in the arm where the weapon had connected; a large piece was missing from it.

The Windigo let out a low, dangerous growl. Its eyes were blazing with anger once again. It lifted both arms up, intending to crush Syuveil into dust, but just then, another arrow hit it, this time in the back. Shirley was airborne, flying toward Syuveil, distracting the Windigo so he could get away. He scampered back as the Windigo roared and swiped at Shirley, who nimbly dodged each strike.

While the Windigo was occupied with Shirley, Syuveil raced back in again, striking at the monster's legs. The shocks were such that they almost turned his arms numb, but the Windigo stumbled, and Shirley took the opportunity to nock an arrow and make another attempt to shoot the Windigo's heart.

The monster's ribcage closed tight, and the arrow glanced off the bone harmlessly. Shirley tried quickly to load another shaft, and Syuveil hammered frantically away at the beast's legs, but to no avail. An arm flashed out and slammed into Shirley, knocking her out of the air, sending her flying back even farther than Kanzas. She tumbled towards the ground, her wings beating frantically to help slow her down. Syuveil gave a sigh of relief as she began to loose speed, landing with only a soft bump on the ground. But that distraction proved to be his undoing, and to his horror, he felt a giant clawed hand close around him.

The Windigo lifted Syuveil up into the air as he writhed and twisted, trying desperately to get away. Then suddenly, it began to squeeze, and Syuveil let out a piercing scream as he felt his ribs slowly crack and shatter. His struggles intensified, but they were all in vain. The Windigo kept hold of him, squeezing even tighter. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, he couldn't breathe, a haze of agony was clouding his vision. He felt his consciousness slipping away, and fought against it, tried to keep awake. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shirley struggle to her feet, but she was too far away to be of any help. Syuveil's screams grew louder as the monster's grip intensified, crushing him even more. Then suddenly, the Windigo raised him up higher, and did the only thing worse than hold him in its terrible clutches. It let him go.

Syuveil let out another shriek as he fell towards the ground. With no Dragoon wings to slow his descent, he continued on down at breakneck speed until finally he hit the icy earth. A tortured groan escaped his lips as he felt his spinal cord snap. He coughed, and felt blood come out of his mouth, trickling down his cheek. Through pain-blurred eyes he saw Shirley come within range of the monster and loose a shaft at it, but the arrow missed as the Windigo moved closer towards Syuveil.

He tried to get up, to flee, to run for his life, but his legs wouldn't respond. He couldn't feel them at all. Helpless, he could only watch as the Windigo stood over him and raised one foot off the ground. Looking up at the clawed, icy foot positioned over him, Syuveil saw his own death. _When_ _I wondered what was beyond this life,_ he thought sadly to himself, _I didn't think I'd get to find out so soon. _A tear rolled down his cheek, his chest constricted almost painfully. Surprisingly, neither his ribs nor his back hurt anymore. Aside from the sorrow in his heart, he felt quite peaceful. _If this is dying, it's not so bad._

Suddenly, the entire lair was illuminated in a flash of light. The Windigo stepped back, caught off guard. Syuveil used the last of his fading strength to turn his head, trying to see where the light had come from.

Damia had regained consciousness, and found the strength to change forms. She stood in her Dragoon armor, teal-blue light shining around her, hands gripping tightly around her altered hammer. Her face was set in a hard, determined look, her eyes blazing with some inner fire. As Syuveil watched with dimming eyes, she rose from the ground and flew towards the Windigo, her wings making little noise as they flapped, beating towards her foe.

The Windigo tried to raise its arms to defend itself, but Damia was coming at it too fast. She swung her hammer, and struck the monster a colossal blow to the head. Icy teeth flew, and the lower half of its jaw fell to shatter on the ground. Damia raised her hammer and swung again, slamming it down on the top of the Windigo's skull. A large crack appeared down the middle of its face, and the monster toppled and fell, hitting the ground with an earth-shaking crash. Damia plummeted downwards, her hammer a gray blur as it split the air, heading straight towards the Windigo's heart. There was a gut-wrenching sound as the hammer connected with the heart, bursting it open and showering Damia in a spray of purplish blood. The Windigo gave a high-pitched scream and flailed its limbs around in agony, then collapsed back onto the icy ground as the life left it.

Damia did not linger to gloat over her triumph, but changed course and flew towards Syuveil. Landing beside his broken body, she cradled his head in her hands.

"Shirley!" she called. "SHIRLEY!!!"

The other Dragoon flew over as Syvueil coughed again, bringing up more blood. "Shirley…" he gasped weakly, "Shirley…I can't move my legs…"

"Easy now. Just calm down." She raised her hands and started to mutter something under her breath, but Syuveil couldn't understand it. His vision started to go black, a dark haze obscuring his sight.

Just then, a warm, comforting sensation filled him. A light seemed to spread throughout his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Amazingly, he felt his ribs knit, felt his spine mend. His legs regained feeling, and the black cloud lifted from his eyes. Somehow, by some strange magic of Shirley's, he was fully healed. He raised himself to a sitting position, eyes wide with wonder.

"How…"

Shirley smiled. "Each Dragoon Spirit grants its user unique abilities, Syuveil. Mine gives me the ability to manipulate light, and heal the injured." She nodded at the gore-covered half-breed standing beside her. "Damia here can generate ice."

Damia stared. "I can?"

"Yes, with the proper training. Once we get to Vellweb, I'll be happy to give you the instruction you need to fight with the power of the dragon." She glanced over to where Kanzas lay, still unconscious. "Although now we have more pressing matters before us," she remarked, rising and walking over to Kanzas' crumpled form.

"Can't we just leave him like that until we get to Vellweb?" Damia asked. "It'll make the trip there easier on all of us." Syuveil had to admit that the girl had a point.

Shirley laughed. "There's much to be said for that, but I'm afraid not. Rude and confrontational he may be, but we need his fighting abilities." She raised her hands again, and muttered some more under her breath. Her hands began to glow, and Kanzas' eyes fluttered open. He rubbed his head and got to his feet. Syuveil noticed the gash in his stomach had been healed up, leaving nothing but a rip in his shirt.

"What the hell happened?"

"You were knocked out by the Windigo," Syuveil told him.

Kanzas scowled. "I know that, you brainless worm. What happed to the monster?"

"Damia killed it," Syuveil said, pointing at the beast's corpse. Kanzas followed Syuveil's finger, his eyes widening as he lighted on the smashed wreckage of the Windigo's heart. He turned to Damia, wearing her Dragoon armor, its teal color spattered with the creature's purple blood.

"Damn," he muttered. For the first time, he actually looked impressed at something Damia had done. "So the half-breed knows how to fight after all."

"Thank you," Damia replied, smiling. Kanzas didn't smile back.

"That doesn't mean I like you, girl. Don't get any ideas." He turned around. "Let's get out of here."

"I don't think so," said a cold voice.

Syuveil and the others whirled around. Hovering at the entrance to the Windigo's lair were eight platinum-haired Wingly soldiers, bright wings shining out of their backs and weapons at their waists. Their eyes were like shards of ice as they stared at the four Humans, and the leader's mouth was turned upward into a cruel grin. _Soa have mercy,_ _they've finally found us, _Syuveil thought morosely.

"Well, well," he said, still smiling, "aren't we fortunate, boys? We come to this forsaken glacier tracking two escaped gladiators, and who should we find them with but two Dragoons? You accursed rebels are _such_ an annoyance to our great and glorious leader, Melbu Frahma, he will be nothing short of thrilled to know that we have you in custody." He raised his voice. "Throw down your arms and surrender your spirits, and you will not be harmed. You will accompany us to Zenebatos to face the judgment of Nomos. Never let it be said that the Winglies did not grant traitors a fair and just trial." His grin widened sadistically. "If you insist on fighting back, you will all be butchered like the animals that you are."

Shirley laughed. "A fair and just trial? You must be joking, Wingly. I know what your bloody "trials" are like. You might as well just kill us now and save the Winged Executioners the trouble." She fitted an arrow to her bowstring and raised it, the shining point directed straight at the Wingly captain's heart. "You're damn right we're going to fight back." Beside her, Damia hefted her blood-soaked hammer. Syuveil raised his glaive, and Kanzas curled his hands into fists.

The Wingly laughed. "Don't be a fool, rebel. You're outnumbered two to one. Your defeat of that monster was impressive, I'll grant you, but against us you have no hope. Are you really that eager to die?" In response, Shirley sent her arrow sailing through the air. The captain dodged, but the man behind him wasn't so quick. The shaft hit him in the throat, and he fell to the ground, kicking feebly as blood streamed out of his neck and trickled downward, staining his armor red. The captain seemed unconcerned. "So, that's the way it's going to be? Fine. Men, attack!" The Winglies flew towards them, leaving their now-dead companion behind on the ice. Shirley loaded another arrow and loosed, and suddenly there were two bodies on the ground. The remaining Winglies increased speed, flying like eagles towards them, weapons in hand.

They were on top of them before Shirley could get off another shot. Out of the corner of his eye, Syuveil saw her fly upward, trying to give herself room. One of the Winglies gave pursuit, but Shirley raised her hand and a bright beam of light lanced out of it. The beam struck the Wingly in the chest and he dropped to the ice, the front of his armor smoking.

That was as much as he saw, for his attention was diverted by another soldier flying straight at him, sword raised. Syuveil deflected a swipe of the blade with his glaive and sent an answering cut back, but the Wingly changed altitude and dodged it. As the solider came back down at him, he noticed another one coming at him from behind. He ran to his left, trying to evade them, but the Winglies gave chase. He slashed wildly with his glaive as they neared him, in an attempt to keep them at a distance, but they simply laughed at his efforts. One of them formed a ball of energy in his hand and threw it almost lazily at Syuveil, who stopped swinging his glaive and dove out of the way. Ice flew as the energy crashed into the wall of the glacier. Syuveil leapt to his feet, but by then, the Winglies were both flying at him. Syuveil rushed at them, shoved the glaive through the belly of the nearest one, then with cat-like speed, ripped it out and ducked just as the other hacked at his head.

Syuveil raised his bloody glaive to block a second cut, and then a third. The Wingly pressed the attack, driving Syuveil back on his heels with a vicious flurry of blinding strikes. Syuveil parried them all, knocking them aside to try and get in an attack of his own, but there was always another attack coming. Syuveil didn't know how long he could keep going.

Suddenly, a giant ball of fire sped through the air, a glowing sphere nearly as bright as the sun that shone with a burning light as it flew downward. It connected with its apparent target, creating an explosion that made the ground tremble. Despite themselves, both Syuveil and his enemy stopped fighting and turned to look. The warrior that Damia had been struggling in the air with moments before was now a charred mass of flesh on the ground. For one moment, Syuveil thought Damia had somehow incinerated him, but no, she looked just as surprised and shocked as Syuveil felt. Human and Wingly alike looked to see where the fire had come from, and they didn't have to look far.

A man in red armor, similar to Shirley's and Damia's was speeding towards them, wings pumping madly, his left hand surrounded with the same fire that had fried the Wingly a moment ago._ Another Dragoon, _Syuveil realized, _with the power to control fire._ _Wait, no. Two Dragoons. _For close behind the crimson warrior was a Dragoon clad in golden armor. Next to Magnar, this man was the biggest person Syuveil had ever seen, dwarfing the red Dragoon easily. _He can't be all human. There's got to be some Giganto blood in him._ The golden Dragoon carried with him an axe near as big as Syuveil, while the scarlet-colored Dragoon carried a sword in his right hand, the sharp blade curved and serrated at the top. They both landed on the ground beside Shirley, whose eyes brightened with happiness.

"Zieg! Belzac!"

"Hello, Shirley," said the red Dragoon calmly, as if he and Shirley were talking over breakfast. "Need any help?"

"Oh, sure, if it's not too much trouble," Shirley replied with a hint of sarcasm. The red warrior gave a mocking sort of bow.

"Your wish is my command, fair lady." He looked over at the warrior that Syuveil had previously been dueling with, raised his hand, and unleashed another blast of fire, killing the poor bastard instantly. His burning body fell to the ground, and Syuveil backed away, wide-eyed. The man smiled and turned to the surviving Winglies. There were two left, the captain and another man. Both looked scared. Now they were the ones outnumbered.

"Gentlemen, as you can see, you are now two against six. If you fight, you will most certainly die. I suggest you throw down your weapons and surrender peacefully."

"And if we do," the captain asked, "what will happen?"

"We'll still kill you," the red Dragoon replied nonchalantly, "but if you surrender, it'll take much less effort on our part, which is why we'd prefer you went that course."

The captain spat onto the ice. "Barbarians." Without another word, he and his companion rushed at the six warriors. The captain's subordinate outdistanced him, speeding towards Shirley, howling like a demon. A golden blur flashed by, and the gigantic Dragoon moved in to intercept him, swinging his monstrous axe. A loud scream rent the air as the Dragoon's axe sheared the man in half at the waist. Blood sprayed everywhere, the two halves of the man collapsing to the ground. The captain flew at the red Dragoon, who waited until the last possible minute, then reached up and caught the man by the throat. He began to squeeze, choking the captain until the Wingly's face turned blue. The man dropped his weapon as the strength left his fingers, pounding weakly at the Dragoon, but to no avail. His face darkened further until it was a deep shade of purple. His struggles became more and more feeble, until finally they stopped altogether as the captain sucked in his last, rattling breath. The red Dragoon let go, letting the captain's corpse fall to the ice, then turned to Shirley.

"We can't even let you out of our sight for a minute without you getting into some sort of trouble, can we, Shirley?" the man asked with a sardonic smile.

"Shut up, Zieg," Shirley snapped, uncharacteristically agitated. "I had everything under control."

"Where have you been?" the golden Dragoon, whose name would appear to have been Belzac, asked angrily. "You said you'd be back a week ago!"

Shirley raised her hands, trying to placate the giant. "I'm sorry, Belzac. Something unexpected came up."

Belzac was not appeased. "We were all worried sick about you! What in Soa's name possessed you to come this way? You know the kind of perils that this glacier holds!" The golden Dragoon seemed incensed, but it was the kind of anger that a parent has with their child when they've done something dangerous, more scared for the child's health and well-being than furious at a transgression. _There's something going on here with them, _Syuveil thought, _but it's not my business what. _

Fortunately for Shirley, the Dragoon named Zieg stepped in. "I see you found the girl, Shirley, but who are the other two?"

"They were with Damia when I found her. I let them come along. I can't quite explain it, but there's something about them that draws me. I thought maybe Emperor Diaz could figure it out."

"So that's why it took you so long? You had these two with you?" Zieg asked. Shirley nodded. "I hope they're worth what it took to bring them."

"If nothing else, we can use them as soldiers," Shirley said. "They were gladiators in the Arena. They're excellent fighters."

Zieg looked impressed. "Really? We may be able to find a use for you two." Syuveil was mildly offended that they were discussing his future prospects in the army without so much as word to him, but now was not the time to argue. "What are your names?" Zieg asked.

"My name is Syuveil," Syuveil said. The man beside me…

"I can answer for myself, thank you," his companion snapped, cutting him off. "The name's Kanzas."

Zieg nodded. "My name is Zieg, and this is Belzac." The giant warrior inclined his head respectfully to them. Up close, Syuveil could see that he did indeed have Giganto blood in him. His eyes lacked pupils and irises, they were just pure white, one of the race's main identifying marks. He wasn't big enough to be a full Giganto, though; he had to be a half-breed. _He and Damia should get along well. _He wore a bandanna around the top of his head, and despite his rather intimidating demeanor, Syuveil could sense that he had a kind and gentle nature, similar to Shirley. His armor was immense, shining gold with a gleaming gem in the middle

The other Dragoon, Zieg, although not nearly as big as Belzac, was evidently quite strong; veins snaked up the length of his arms, and his muscles were clearly defined. His armor was nearly the same as Belzac's, but not as big, and instead of bright gold it was the color of blood. Green jewels glinted in the breastplate and headband, and between the red, the shoulder guards were enameled blue. He had long blond hair and was quite handsome, with laughing blue eyes and a mouth that seemed to be made for easy smiles. He was smiling now, as he looked at them.

"I see what you mean, Shirley. There's something about them that I feel…connected to." Still smiling, he turned to Damia. "You must be the girl that Shirley was sent to find. Damia, isn't it?" She nodded. "I see you haven't wasted any time in putting your powers to use." His eyes lingered on the corpse of the Windigo, and the purple blood covering Damia's armor. Damia flushed, and Zieg chuckled at her, not unkindly.

"If you're done mooning over us," Kanzas growled, "I'd like to be going."

Zieg looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "As you wish." He walked over to the Wingly captain he'd killed and bent down, searching his corpse. "Aha," he said, rising. He held something small in his hand. "It's a portable teleportation device. My guess is they were going to use it to transport you to Zenebatos." He fiddled with a few buttons. "Well, it will serve our purpose now. Stand close." The device began to glow, and suddenly they were all enshrouded in a bright green light. Syuveil felt that uncomfortable feeling of rushing forward at high speed, and then suddenly, the light disappeared and they were all deposited on the ground.

They were surrounded by tall, brick houses, and the sounds of the hustle and bustle of a large city filled the air. Merchants called out their wares, customers loudly haggled for lower prices, and children ran and played in the streets, laughing in high-pitched voices. Belzac smiled at them. As Syuveil looked around, something caught his attention. Off in the distance, seven enormous towers rose high, higher than everything around them. They were arranged into a circle, and the sight of them filled Syuveil with joy. The sight of those towers told him without a doubt that he was finally here.

He was in Vellweb.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's note: Wow, bit of a wait, eh? All I can say is that I started college, and fanfiction kinda got pushed to the side. I will try to finish this one, although I can't say how often I'll update. Enjoy!

Syuveil's mouth hung open in awe as he made his way through Vellweb alongside his companions, his mind still reluctant to accept the reality of what he was experiencing. Previously unbelievable things, things that every reputable scholar had determined were nothing more than fanciful legend, were looming before his eyes. Even now, it was still hard to believe that this was actually real. A utopia, safe from the Winglies. Children playing in the streets, their loud yells lost in the noise of the city. Adults moving to and fro, the grim, frightened looks that Syuveil usually saw replaced by happy, cheerful countenances, as if they hadn't a care in the world.

And the seven towers as well, and the Dragoons that dwelled within them. Well, three of them, at least. Four, counting Damia. They walked with Syuveil and the rest, fairy tales made real. They had dispersed with their magical armor when they arrived in the city (Zeig's normal garb was apparently red plate armor, Belzac's was leather pants with armor at the knees, and a short-sleeved, tight-fitting golden tunic), yet they still commanded respect by their mere presence, seemed to exude a kind of aura of power. Or was that just how Syuveil viewed them?

Syuveil looked over at Kanzas, hoping to see a flicker of shock fly across the man's face, see the angry look change for once, but he was disappointed. If Kanzas was experiencing any of the same feelings as Syuveil, he gave no sign of it. The lips were still set in that hateful scowl, curling upwards under his mustache. The dirt smearing his face and the dried blood caking his clothes did little to enhance his appearance.

_I must look similar,_ Syuveil thought ruefully to himself. He hadn't washed since escaping the Arena, and even a bath there could hardly qualify as decent. There was blood on him as well, he knew, around his mouth, from where he'd bled after the Windigo had thrown him to the ground, and on the front of his leather armor, where the life of the Winglies had sprayed out after he'd killed them. At the Kadessa teleporter, and during the fight at the glacier. Syuveil sighed inwardly. He'd known it had to be done, else it would have meant his life, but it still saddened him. Hopefully it would be the last time he had to kill.

"Where are we going?" Damia asked

"We're taking the three of you to see Emperor Diaz," Zeig told her. "He's been searching for you in particular for some time now."

"Why?" Damia asked, looking bemused.

"We knew someone had the Blue Sea Dragoon Spirit, someone who the Spirit had recognized as its master. We've invested much time and magic into pinpointing your exact location."

"But why?" Damia asked. "Why do you need me?"

Zeig looked confused. "That should be obvious. We need you to help fight the war."

"But I'm not a warrior," Damia protested. "What use could I be to you?"

"Personally," Belzac said, speaking for the first time since their arrival at Vellweb, "I was quite impressed with the way you were holding off that Wingly when we found you." His deep voice was kind, oddly gentle. "You killed a Windigo…"

"That was a fluke," Damia interrupted. "I spent most of that battle passed out."

Belzac talked over her objections. "You killed a Windigo, and from what Shirley tells us, you've been a bounty hunter since you were a little girl. And a successful one at that." He smiled at her, his white eyes seeming to shine. "So I'll hear no more from you about how you're no warrior. You most certainly are. There is no question about that."

"And what's more," Shirley said, "you are a Dragoon now. A Dragoon has more power than an ordinary person can ever dream of. You'll do fine."

"Hang on," Syuveil broke in, incensed. "She hasn't even said she wants to help yet, and you're talking as if she's already enlisted in your army. Who are you to make these decisions for her?"

"No, Syuveil," Damia told him. "I…I want to help."

"Damia, are you sure?" he asked her. She'd been through a lot in the past few days, and he worried that this new burden might have been too much to bear for her.

"Yes, Syuveil, I'm sure. I want to fight the injustice, fight the Winglies that have done this." She turned to Zeig. "I want to help you…as a Dragoon."

Zeig gave a broad grin. "Well said, girl." Shirley nodded in agreement, and Belzac patted her on the shoulder.

Syuveil said nothing. If Damia wanted to fight, that was her business. He, however, was not going to let them drag him into this. He looked over at Kanzas again, looking once more for any change in expression, something that might show what he was feeling. He was staring at Damia, his eyes narrowed, dark with something that Syuveil couldn't place. He gave another inward sigh. As long as they had spent together, Syuveil didn't think he'd ever understand Kanzas fully.

"Come." Zeig told the three of them. "We'll present Damia to Emperor Diaz. And we'll figure out what's to be done with you two."

"Is Emperor Diaz a Dragoon as well?" Damia asked.

Zeig shook his head. "No. None of the Spirits we have found so far chose to recognize him, for reasons only they know. He is not a Dragoon. Just a great, great man." There was awe in his voice, reverence.

They continued on. The seven Dragoon towers drew closer, but that didn't seem to be their destination. There was a large structure, almost like a palace, that it appeared they were heading towards. _That must be where Emperor Diaz resides, _Syuveil thought to himself. He turned to Shirley.

"So, how many more of you are there?" he asked.

"How many more Dragoons, you mean?" Shirley replied. "Just one more, as of yet. Rose, the Darkness Dragoon. She should be with Emperor Diaz. You'll meet her there." As she spoke of this final Dragoon, Rose, Syuveil could not help but notice Zeig's face brighten a bit. It was small, a slight heightening of the features, a brief upward curving of the lips, but it was there. Syuveil made a mental note of that.

"Including Damia, that would make five of you," he remarked. "Yet there are seven towers, and all the old legends say there were seven Dragoon warriors. Where are the other two?"

"Undiscovered for now," Shirley replied, "but our search continues. Next to harassing the Winglies, finding all seven Spirits is our highest priority."

Finally Kanzas spoke up, and Syuveil turned rapidly at the sound of his voice. "It seems pretty pathetic to me that all you can do is harass them," the harsh warrior said, his voice carrying its usual dark growl. "Some great warriors of legend you are."

Zeig and Belzac regarded him with narrowed eyes, but Shirley, as she had all throughout their journey from Furni, remained composed and polite in the face of Kanzas' venomous tongue. "We have very little army, other than ourselves," she said calmly. "Powerful we may be, but we are still very few. We rely mainly on volunteers from villages we've liberated. I was hoping," she said, her voice slightly stronger, "that you two might be interested in joining the fight as well. To have survived in the Arena for so long takes skill. You could be some of our finest lieutenants."

Kanzas snorted. "When you're ready to take the Winglies head-on, then maybe we'll talk. Until then, fuck off. Don't gimme any of this 'liberating villages' crap. My fists won't settle for anything less than open warfare."

"And why is that?" Shirley asked him, fixing Kanzas with an intense gaze, the gaze that seemed to stare deeper than flesh. "What drives a man like you? Why do you like to kill so much?"

Everyone had stopped walking. Belzac, Zeig, and Damia were all watching Kanzas, and Syuveil, who had wondered this ever since meeting Kanzas two years ago, stared intently, waiting for the answer. He didn't think Kanzas was likely to divulge the information, especially in front of people he barely knew, but if anyone could bring it out of him, Syuveil knew it would be Shirley.

Kanzas looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He shot Shirley a filthy look, as if angry with his own weakness, which Shirley returned with a soft smile and twinkling eyes.

"I have my reasons," he finally said, and the murderous look on his face told Syuveil that no one would get anything more from him. "Now, can we keep moving?" he snarled. "I wanna see this Diaz character."

"That's _Emperor _Diaz to you," Zeig told him, his voice sounding angry. Kanzas sneered at him.

They all started walking again. "As I was saying," Shirley continued, as if nothing had happened, "other than the five Dragoons we have now, our army is very small. Syuveil," she said, turning to him, "you would make a fine addition to our forces. I still see blood on your glaive from where you fought at the glacier. Two years in the Kadessa Arena is no small feat, and according to Kanzas, the first foe you killed was a Giganto. The Winglies would learn to fear you."

"I have no desire to be feared by anyone," he told her sharply, and the unusual tone of his voice reminded him of Kanzas. Shirley was speaking of the men he'd killed as if it were an honorable thing, it seemed to him. His heart still felt heavy whenever he thought about all the death he'd caused. Every now and then he wondered what had become of them, all those lost souls. He liked to believe that they were living in some paradise, bathed in the love of Soa. Endless oblivion was too horrible to contemplate. He stared at Shirley. "I don't want to fight anymore," he told her. "I had my taste, and it made me nauseous. I just want to live here in peace, with a wife, children, and more books than I can count. Give me that, and I'll be a happy man until the end of my days."

Shirley gave him a sad smile. "I hope you change your mind. At least hear what the Emperor has to say." She gazed ahead to the palace, which was drawing steadily closer, and said nothing more.

They arrived at the door to the palace. There were two humans guarding the door; they nodded respectfully to the Dragoons and pushed the door open. Zeig led them through a large entrance hall lined with torches, taking them into an enormous circular room, with spiral stairs. They ascended the stairs, until they came to a large door, flanked by more guards. One smiled.

"I see you found her, sir," he said to Zeig. He turned his grin on Damia, who smiled tentatively back. She seemed uncertain. Doubtless it was the first kind smile she'd seen in a long time. The guards pushed open the doors, and Zeig led them in, taking them to the mysterious Emperor Diaz, who would decide Syuveil's fate.

The light of enormous torches, twice as big as those that had sat in the entrance hall, bathed the room in a bright glow. Syuveil actually began to perspire slightly. The room was made of the same stone as the entire palace, and the emperor's throne was built into the wall. Syuveil could see him sitting there, gazing down at the new arrivals. Looking at him, he didn't quite know what to think of the man.

The emperor wore a long, white robe, inlaid with intricate orange designs running down the middle. Whether they were some strange writing, or simply there for decoration, Syuveil had no idea. The top of the robe was covered by orange armor that protected his shoulders, and extended upward to form a mask that entirely obscured his face. The armor protruded outward, slightly, like the armor of a Dragoon. _He is no Dragoon, _Syuveil thought, _but perhaps the choice of armor reflects his desire to be one._ He carried a great orange staff that twisted and twined around itself, giving it the appearance of gnarled wood. Syuveil wondered if it possessed any magical properties.

There was another person in the room, standing at the foot of the throne. A woman, dressed in dark blue clothing, so dark it was almost black. The garb was bordered with gold, and what looked like a gold bracelet hung from the woman's left wrist. The entirety of her upper body was clothed, the dark tunic extending downward to form a skirt, covering the bare minimum that needed to be covered. Strangely, the woman wore two different boots. One rose to mid-calf, while the other went up almost the entire length of her leg, stopping at her thigh, leaving only a few inches of white skin uncovered. The oddity of the woman's clothing was compounded by a bizarre, two-pronged headdress that poked upwards out of her long, black hair, giving her the appearance of having two pointed, blue-gold ears.

It would have looked comical if the woman had been anything less than beautiful. Her lips were red, her skin pale white and smooth-looking. Her hair looked as if it were spun from the deepest shadows, soft and silky, cascading down her back in a long, black river. Her eyes were the same dark blue as her clothes, cool and intelligent-looking, and while there was nothing overtly malevolent about them, there was absent the warm kindness of Shirley, or the bright happiness of Damia. They were calculating, shrewd, and Syuveil, while extremely taken by her beauty, gained the distinct impression that she was not someone to trifle with. Nevertheless, she smiled as they walked in.

"That's Rose," Belzac whispered to Syuveil, Damia, and Kanzas. _The Darkness Dragoon, _Syuveil thought. _Her element suits her._

Zeig led them towards the middle of the room, where there was a large, circular area, evidently made for audiences with the emperor. Upon Zeig's approach, Syuveil noticed Rose's smile widen. As Syuveil and his companions came to a halt in the middle of the circle, he noticed that a slight divide separated the throne area from the audience area. Peering down, Syuveil could see nothing but a very long drop. He wondered what possible purpose it could have. He had no time to dwell on it, however, as Zeig, Belzac, and Shirley were kneeling, and motioning for the other three to do the same.

Syuveil knelt on the hard, cold stone, remembering all the times he'd knelt for Malavis in the Arena. The memory made him frown. Then Diaz spoke.

"Rise." His voice, although not particularly deep, like Belzac's, was made cavernous by the orange mask he wore. As one, they rose. Syuveil took a quick glance at Damia. She looked nervous enough to faint. Zeig raised his head and addressed the emperor.

"Emperor Diaz, Holy Imperial Gloriano, I, Zeig Feld, present the newest Dragoon, Damia of Furni." He motioned for Damia to step forward. She did so, trembling. Diaz looked down upon her, his masked face utterly unreadable. He must have looked terribly intimidating to poor Damia, who regarded him with fear in her eyes.

"Do not be so frightened, child," he said, and his cavernous voice was kind. Listening closely, Syuveil did not think it an act. "You are among friends now." Damia looked visibly relaxed, although still slightly scared.

"I am Emperor Diaz, lord of Vellweb, leader of the resistance movement against the Winglies. We spent many months looking for you, Damia, when we discovered that the Blue Sea Dragoon Sprit had recognized a new master." He peered down at her. "And now that we have found you, there remains only one question. Do you accept your fate as a Dragoon?"

Damia swallowed. "Your Majesty?" She looked confused.

"Will you fight for us, Damia? Will you stand up against the prejudice and oppression created by the Winglies? Will you help us overthrow their tyrannical rule?"

Damia nodded, and when she spoke, her voice was strong. "I will." All fear was gone, replaced by a look of determination, of pride.

Emperor Diaz descended his throne and stepped over the small divide, onto a prong sticking out of the circular area. The woman named Rose followed him. He stopped in front of Damia and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Then I am proud to pronounce you one of us. Step forward and join your brothers and sisters in arms!"

Rose was the first to clasp Damia's hand. She leaned in close, murmuring words that Syuveil couldn't hear. The rest of the Dragoons crowded in around her, Zeig, Belzac, and Shirley, speaking welcome and kindness. Damia beamed.

After a few short moments, they stepped back. "Now we are five," Diaz said. "And with the Jade Dragoon Spirit already in our possession, we will soon be six!"

"We simply need to find the right person," Zeig said. "We should begin compiling a list of who it might be."

"That can wait," Emperor Diaz told him. "You have other matters to set before me, I think." He motioned to Syuveil and Kanzas. "Who are these?"

"They were with Damia when Shirley found her, escapees from the Imperial Arena at Kadessa. There was something about them that struck her, and she brought them along."

"Something about them that struck her?" The emperor sounded skeptical.

"I felt it as well. Something that I couldn't quite place. I don't know how, but I feel somehow…connected to these people."

"What are their names?" Diaz asked.

"The one with the brown hair and glasses is named Syuveil. The muscular one with the red hair and goatee is Kanzas."

Diaz walked up to them. Syuveil looked for eyes through the darkness that dwelled in the slit in the emperor's mask, but saw no sign of anything looking at him. He could have been looking at a ghost. The emperor walked around them, appraising them. Syvueil sent up a prayer to Soa that Kanzas would, for once, hold his tongue. The emperor did not seem like a cruel man, and Syuveil did not think he would mete out harsh punishments for insolence, but he still did not want Kanzas to take any chances with that. The man was obviously someone to be respected, at any rate. The trouble was, Kanzas only respected those who could fight.

After what seemed an eternity, the emperor stopped in front of the two. "You two have the look of veteran warriors," he remarked. His head moved up and down, and Syuveil was sure he was taking in the bloodstained clothes, the dirt-caked skin, the armor and weapons. "My congratulations to you two, both for surviving the Imperial Arena, and for escaping successfully. We could use warriors such as yourselves. You would make fine leaders for our soldiers, second only to the Dragoons." He turned to Syuveil. "What say you?"

"Your Majesty," Syuveil said, "I cannot speak for my companion, but…I am eternally grateful for the offer, but I am no leader of men." He prepared himself to give the speech he felt he'd given a hundred times. He didn't want to fight anymore. He just wanted to live a life in peace. Why couldn't people see that?

Before he got a chance to explain, however, Zeig stepped up to the emperor. "Your Majesty," he muttered, "if I may make a suggestion?"

"Speak." Emperor Diaz said.

"This connection we all feel to them…it could be connected to our Spirits. We could bring out the Jade Dragoon Spirit. See if it reacts to either of them."

Emperor Diaz was silent for a moment. Zeig continued.

"Even you agree, Your Majesty, these men are warriors. Just the type that a Dragoon Spirit would choose."

Emperor Diaz remained silent for a moment longer, then said, "Very well." He shouted for a guard, who opened the door and walked in. Not the guard who had smiled at Damia, but his companion, Syuveil saw. "Bring the Jade Dragoon Spirit to me." Emperor Diaz ordered.

"Yes, Your Majesty." The guard retreated. Syuveil didn't know what to think. The very idea was preposterous. Kanzas, maybe. He was the true warrior of the two. But him? Syuveil the scholar? No. Never in his wildest fantasies had he envisioned himself as one of the great Dragoon warriors of legend. Diaz would be disappointed. The true Dragoons were conversing amongst themselves, muttering speculation. Damia detached herself from her newfound companions and walked over to Syuveil.

"Syuveil? Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said. Damia raised her eyebrows. Syuveil smiled. "Really, Damia. I'm fine. I'm just not happy about having these people decide my fate for me."

"But what if you're a Dragoon, too?"

"That won't happen," he told her confidently. "When whatever test they're going to perform fails, I'll explain to the emperor that I don't want to fight. Then it will all be over. I can start anew here in Vellweb."

The door opened, and the guard walked in carrying a small wooden box. He held it carefully, as if carrying a delicate vase, his eyes filled with something almost like awe. He looked on this box, Syuveil suddenly knew, with more reverence that he had ever bestowed upon anything else in his life, even his beloved emperor. Something powerful was in that box.

The guard walked up, knelt, and lifted the box up to the emperor. He took it from the guard's hands, and the man left the room. Slowly, carefully, Diaz opened the box.

He turned it to face Syuveil and Kanzas, and Syuveil saw that within the box was a green stone, a perfect sphere. A darker line of green was running down the middle, giving it the appearance of an eye, an exact replica of the stone Damia had. It sat there in the box, glimmering in the light of the enormous torches, seeming to stare up at everyone, as if it had will and sight of its own. Syuveil gazed back at it. Diaz walked over to Kanzas, holding out the stone.

"Pick it up," he told Kanzas.

"And what'll happen if I do?" Syuveil was pleased to hear that Kanzas kept his tone semi-polite.

"That's what we need to find out. Pick it up."

Kanzas reached out and took the stone from the box, holding it in his hand. Syuveil waited anxiously for something to happen, for Kanzas to suddenly turn into a mystical Dragoon, but there was nothing. The stone did not glow, as Damia's had whenever she'd held it. Kanzas turned the still-dull stone over in his hand, examining it from all angles.

"What's it supposed to do?"

"Nothing, if you are not meant to possess it," Diaz said. "And you are not." He held the box out, and Kanzas put the stone back. It continued to stare at him, the green eye winking in the torchlight.

Emperor Diaz now walked over to Syuveil, who felt a thrill of anticipation even though he knew nothing would happen. He was Syuveil, the young brain from the village too little to even have a name, the bookworm, the bully magnet. _The Arena survivor,_ a small voice in the back of his head whispered. _The Giganto killer._ Syuveil pushed it out of his mind.

Diaz came to a halt in front of him and held the box out. Still the green stone stared.

"Pick it up," Diaz said again. Syuveil reached out, his hand seeming to take an eternity to make the journey, the tips of his fingers seeming forever far from the green stone in the box. Finally, his hand closed around it and lifted it out of the box, and he held it in his palm, returning its gaze.

The stone began to glow.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own LOD or anything related to it.

Author's note: So, I'm home from college for the summer, and my work schedule is dwindling, and to combat boredom I have decided to drag this fanfic out and work on it again. That, and I got a couple very nice reviews asking that I not abandon it (thanks). I make no promises about how much progress I will make over the rest of the summer. At least this chapter, obviously. Maybe one or two more, but don't get your hopes up. So for those of you still paying attention, here's chapter eleven.

Syuveil stood completely still in the center of the throne room, unable to do anything but stare, shocked beyond belief, at the vibrant green light emanating from the stone in his hand. The glow was beautiful, transfixing, the same color as a forest in the middle of summer, somehow giving off a sense of warmth and comfort without actually having a temperature. However, Syuveil only slightly registered this, and continued to stare at the Dragoon Spirit not in awe, but in complete and utter disbelief. It was impossible. He couldn't be a Dragoon. There just wasn't any way. He was no great warrior. He'd spent his childhood avoiding the outdoors, growing paler and smaller and smarter, sequestered with his books. He wasn't a Dragoon, he just knew it. It was impossible. Impossible. _Impossible._

And yet there was the Dragoon Spirit, shining brightly. Syuveil could do nothing but stare at it, utterly nonplussed. _There must be some mistake, _was all he could think.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a peal of jubilant laughter. Syuveil's head whipped around. Zeig had a look of wild happiness on his face, a grin wide enough to show most of his white teeth. The others were all staring at Syuveil, the veteran Dragoons with looks as joyful as Zeig's, and Kanzas and Damia looking about as shocked as Syuveil felt.

Zeig roared with laughter again. "We've got it! Soa be praised, we actually found it! It's him! We've got our Jade Dragoon!"

"No…" was all Syuveil could manage. "N-no." He looked from one ecstatic face to the next, silently pleading with them to read his mind, to understand. This was a mistake.

Belzac put a hand on Shirley's shoulder. "Excellently done, Shirley. You did well in bringing this one here."

A jolt of fear flashed through him. _No, they can't drag me into this. I'm not who they think I am, I don't want to fight, I can't._ His horror grew as he saw the veteran Dragoons exchange contented looks. _No._

"Please," he told them, finally finding his voice, "this isn't right. You must understand, I can't be a Dragoon. This stone must be glowing for some other reason. I _can't _be a Dragoon."

"The Spirits only glow for one reason, child." The cavernous voice of Emperor Diaz made him tremble. The masked ruler turned towards him, the unreadable shadows covering his eyes. "It has chosen you as its master. You deserve to rule dragons."

"No, impossible. I don't 'deserve' to rule anything. I…I'm a scholar, I read books. _Books,_ for Soa's sake. I'm no true warrior, just a skinny boy who was forced to fight to survive. I'm not worthy of this kind of power."

"But you just said it. You survived." This was Rose, the Darkness Dragoon, speaking audibly for the first time. Her voice was strong, firm. "No mere scholar survives the Arena. You passed through hell to get here, Syuveil."

"But…"

"You stand there," Rose continued, cutting off his protests, "covered in blood and grime, a glaive at your back, and a Dragoon Spirit glowing in your hand, and you still don't consider yourself a warrior?" She made a dismissive noise. "I can tell you are one, and I just met you."

"What Rose says is true," Belzac said. His deep voice was calming. "And besides, being a Dragoon is more than simply martial ability. There is a certain…quality we all possess. It is very difficult to explain." The other Dragoons nodded their assent.

Syuveil didn't feel as though he had any special qualities at the moment, he just felt scared. Still filled with anxiety, desperate to escape the gazes of the Dragoons, he looked down at the Spirit again. It still glowed as brightly as ever in his palm. He stared at the light shining from it, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. And now that he concentrated on it, he did feel weirdly connected to the stone. It gave him the same comforted feeling that he'd only ever felt at home, around his parents, his sister, and his books. The more he let the light wash over him, the more at peace he felt. Almost unconsciously, he closed his hand tighter around it, began to stroke it with the tips of his fingers. A tingling spread up his arm at the touch, very pleasant. Syuveil smiled softly, nearly laughing. Then he looked up again, and saw the others. Reality returned quite brutally.

He sighed, and opened his mouth for yet another protest, but Zeig held up a hand.

"You can moan all you like about it, but the proof is there. The Spirit chose you." Syuveil could only continue to stare, helpless. He shook his head, ran his shaking free hand through his hair. It just couldn't be. His breathing began to come in sharp bursts, he felt his eyes grow wide, terror come across his face. It was beginning to overwhelm him.

Just then, Shirley stepped forward. She walked over to Syuveil and placed a gentle hand on his chest. Her touch was almost as soothing as the light from the Spirit. "Syuveil, it's okay," she whispered. "Shhhh. It's okay." She wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him in a hug until his breathing returned to normal. Once he had composed himself, she released him and stepped back, her eyes twinkling, that kind smile on her face.

Syuveil stared at her. "Shirley," he said quietly, "this is insane. I cannot be who you think I am."

Her smile widened. "Syuveil, if you need further evidence, then here." She closed her eyes, and blinding silver light enveloped her. When it faded, she was in her Dragoon armor, hovering just a few inches off the ground. She pointed at Syuveil, as she had done with Damia a week before, and said, "Arise, Dragoon Spirit of the Jade Dragon!"

Syuveil gasped as the green light magnified a hundredfold. It soared outward from the Dragoon Spirit until it was all he could see. It surrounded him, blocking out all vision and sound. He felt himself being lifted off the ground, and at the same time, felt an immense surge of power rush through him. He felt every muscle in his body tense, felt a sensation like an electrical shock surge through every part of him. He wasn't sure whether he was screaming too loudly to be heard, or if he'd been robbed of voice completely. And then suddenly, he was aware being completely naked. But before he could do more than realize this, he felt something sweeping over his body, felt something graft onto him, mold onto his skin. Then the green light vanished, and Syuveil looked to see what had happened.

The first thing he noticed was that he, too, was floating several inches above the air. The second thing was the green armor that was now covering his body. The third was the feeling of incredible strength and power that now seemed to fill every inch of his being. He stared down at himself, mouth hanging open.

His legs were fitted with greaves the color of emeralds, with amber jewels where his knees were. Dark blue pants now covered his lower body, and at his waist was armor that reached down to protect his legs. His arms were fitted with giant green vambraces that extended into a slightly curved point at his elbows, his hands enshrouded in gloves of the same color. His shoulders were covered by green pauldrons enameled with amber, and on his chest was a half-green, half-brown cuirass that came up almost to his chin, with an amber gem in the middle. Syuveil reached up to his head and felt a headband there, with the bumps of gems. And then he realized the _wings._ Soa's heart, the bloody wings! He gave them an experimental flap, and couldn't suppress a sound that was equal parts shocked yell and excited laugh as he rose a couple more inches in the air.

Just then, movement caught his eye over to his right. He looked, and saw, floating in the air, surrounded by vague hints of sparkling green light, was an enormous spear. It looked to be made of wood, but Syuveil wasn't sure. It had to be as long as he was tall, carved intricately, with a grip near the top middle for the dominant hand. But what was truly shocking was the blade. It was two-pronged, like a broken trident, but merely a cursory glance could tell that this weapon was in perfect working shape. Both blades looked razor-sharp, coming to a nasty-looking point. Syuveil looked at it in awe.

"Was that my glaive?" he asked Shirley. She nodded.

"Take it," she told him. He reached out and grabbed it from the air, hefting it in his hands. It felt perfect for him, the intricate crafting seemed to have been made to fit his hands. It felt like an extension of his arms, a deadly metal hand.

For a while he simply hovered there, holding the spear and absorbing this new sense of strength, like he had never felt before. There seemed to be within him a nameless power, one that Syuveil couldn't possibly have described even if he'd had weeks to mull it over. On a whim he lifted one hand off the spear and held it out, palm up. Something inside him told him to concentrate hard, and he did, his fingers curling up to cup the air like a soft, green claw. For a split second, nothing happened. Then, amazingly, wind began to circle around the open palm of Syuveil's hand, creating a small breeze.

Syuveil let out a yell of shock and actually leapt back a bit in the air, his hand falling down and the wind stopping. He looked up at the others in front of him, seeing them for the first time in what seemed like ages. The veteran Dragoons were all smiling. Damia was looking worried. Even Kanzas still had vestiges of shock across his face. And Emperor Diaz's masked face was inscrutable. Syuveil turned to look at Shirley, who was absolutely beaming now.

"Wha…what was that?" Suyveil asked, slightly shamed as he heard his voice come out high-pitched with fear.

"Magic, Syuveil," Shirley replied softly.

"But…I'm a Human. I can't do magic."

The dark woman named Rose laughed. "You fool," she said, her voice tinged with amusement, "You're a Dragoon. _That _makes you able to do magic." She chucked again, not unkindly.

"You saw me heal Kanzas in the glacier," Shirley told him. Over her shoulder, Syuveil saw Kanzas give an irritable twitch. "I even healed you."

Syuveil shuddered as he remembered the feeling of his broken bones knitting, the light that had emanated from Shirley's hands. Vividly, he also remembered a lance of light, and the smoking corpse of one of the Winglies they had fought in the glacier. His thoughts turned within once more, to that indomitable sense of power coursing through his body, and the knowledge that, for a certainty, he could make the wind appear again if he chose, simply by concentrating on that power. He turned to look at Shirley again, took a deep breath, and let it out. And with that breath, the last remains of doubt left him. Shirley's face brightened, her eyes twinkling along with the gems in her silver armor.

"Do you accept your fate as a Dragoon, Syuveil?" she asked.

Syuveil took a moment, silently bidding farewell to the wishes of the quiet, peaceful life he'd so yearned for, and nodded.

"Yes!" Zeig shouted jubilantly, pumping his fist. Belzac broke into a wide grin, Rose smiled, and Shirley drifted over and placed a hand on Syuveil's cheek.

"Well done, Syuveil," she said quietly. "I'm proud of you." She smiled as if she knew what he had just given up with that nod, all the hopes of a life full of books and solitude and devoid of killing. Perceptive as she seemed to be, Syuveil thought that she probably did know.

"Thank you," Syuveil said, his voice cracking a little. She smiled softly at him, then closed her eyes, and in a flash of light, her Dragoon armor was gone, and she looked normal again. Momentarily taken aback, Syuveil realized that he should probably do the same. Possessed by the same strange whim that had led him to conjure the wind, he concentrated on letting the power within him abate. There was a flash of green light, and Syuveil felt himself drop to the ground. He was dressed once again in his battered, bloodstained leather armor, holding the simple wooden handle of his glaive, the blade returned to its shining, cruel curve. He drew in another shuddering breath and then turned to Emperor Diaz. "So, what now, Your Majesty?" he asked.

"We shall have to put you and Damia through a training regimen before we send you into battle, of course," the emperor replied. "That will begin tomorrow." Syuveil gave a small start. Immersed in all his anxieties, he had momentarily forgotten that Damia was in much the same position as he was. That thought was comforting. At least he would have a pleasant companion to train with.

"Who will be training us, Your Majesty?" Damia piped up. Although she still looked nervous, there was a certain strength to her voice now, a new confidence. Syuveil remembered the feeling of power that had only recently left his body, and felt that he understood where that strength had come from.

"Every Dragoon will have a hand in your training, with the exception of Syuveil, of course. It creates rather a bonding experience that way."

"What about me?" Kanzas' harsh voice cut through the air, and everyone turned to look at him. He was scowling deeper than usual.

"Ah, yes," Diaz said. "As I said earlier, I was hoping you might enlist in our army as a soldier. Someone with your fighting abilities would be of immeasurable use to us."

"And I should care about being of use to you…why?" Kanzas asked, contempt dripping from his voice.

"It is your duty to help your race!" Belzac shouted, making Syuveil jump. He was glaring at Kanzas, who met the half-Giganto's white-eyed stare with nothing more than a stronger scowl.

"This might be hard for you to believe, big guy, but I could give less than a shit about my race. Humans, Winglies, Giganto, they're all the same. Vermin. I don't care which of them lives or which of them dies, so long as it doesn't affect me."

"You weren't affected by being thrown into the Arena?" Shirley asked. "Being locked up like an animal didn't affect you at all?"

Kanzas twitched. He looked like he wanted to give a nasty retort, but all he did was glare at Shirley.

She smiled. "You won't last long if the Winglies take over completely. It will affect you sooner or later." She took a step closer. "And I get the sense that it has already done so, and not just by your time in the Arena." Her eyes were shrewd. "Who was it, Kanzas?"

Immediately, Syuveil could tell that Shirley had struck a nerve. Kanzas' eyes widened, and his hands began to shake. And suddenly, in a blur of motion, Kanzas was flying at Shirley, roaring in rage. Before Syuveil could even react, Belzac had grabbed him and pulled him back, and there was a scrape of steel as both Zeig and Rose drew their swords and raced over, leveling their blades at the struggling Kanzas. Even with Belzac's muscular arms around him, and two swords at his throat, Kanzas was still beside himself.

"SHUT UP, BITCH!!! DON'T EVER…YOU THINK…HOW DARE YOU!!! BITCH!"

"_ENOUGH!_" Diaz's metallic yell resonated like an explosion, and Kanzas stopped fighting. "Rose and Zeig, put those away." Zeig obeyed, but Rose, holding a rapier with an incredibly sharp-looking point, appeared mutinous. "_Now, _Rose." Diaz said, and Rose sheathed her blade, contenting herself with a vicious look at Kanzas. Diaz stepped in front of Kanzas, but before he could speak, the doors burst open and two guards raced in.

"Your Majesty, we heard shouting. Is everything alright?"

Syuveil fully expected Diaz to order Kanzas be put in chains and sent to the dungeons, and was therefore shocked when the emperor replied, "Everything's fine. You may go." The two guards looked nervous, but bowed and left all the same. Diaz turned to Kanzas. "If you wish to remain with us, in future you will contain these outbursts of rage, is that clear?"

Kanzas, still locked in Belzac's arms, looked furious. "I don't fucking _want _to remain with you," he hissed.

"That may be," Diaz told him, "but you do want to kill. And I can see Shirley is on to something." Kanzas snarled and twisted, but Belzac tightened his grip. Diaz held up a hand, and they both subsided. "You want revenge, don't you?" The look Kanzas gave the emperor was murderous, but he did not speak. He lowered his head, and beneath the anger, Syuveil could see he looked thoughtful. Hardly daring to breathe, he waited for Kanzas' response.

When Kanzas looked up again, it was with his usual contemptuous scowl. "I'll think about your offer," he grumbled. Then, slightly kinder, he added, "Your Majesty." Syuveil watched him, amazed.

Diaz nodded. "Let him go, Belzac." Belzac released his hold, and Kanzas straightened up, rubbing his ribs. Syuveil stole a quick glance over at Shirley, who, he was impressed to see, did not look frightened. Her eyes were still shrewd, and she was watching Kanzas thoughtfully. Syuveil was almost as amazed at Shirley as he was at Kanzas. She had gotten him to reveal more in thirty seconds that Syuveil had in two years. He looked back at Kanzas, who was breathing heavily.

"Guards!" shouted Diaz, and the two guards returned. "Please escort Syuveil and Damia to the towers for the Jade and Blue Sea Dragoons. Give Kanzas one of the extra rooms here in the palace."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The guards moved towards them, beckoning the three over to them. "This way, please." He looked at Kanzas. "We'll take you to your quarters first, and then get your friends situated in their towers." Kanzas nodded, and they all fell into step behind the guards.

Syuveil took a look back, and saw Belzac run over to Shirley, and Rose and Zeig stride over to Emperor Diaz, both looking furious. He turned round to look at Kanzas, and for the first time in Syuveil's memory, saw that he looked troubled. Not angry, but sad, disturbed.

Damia seemed to have noticed it as well, and made to speak to the dour warrior. Syuveil placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. Best to leave Kanzas alone. She smiled sadly and nodded, and together, they followed the guards out of the doors of the throne room.


End file.
